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The Confucian Creation of Heaven

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SUNY Series in Chinese Philosophy and Culture

David L. Hall and Roger T. Ames, Editors

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The Confucian Creation of Heaven

Philosophy and the Defense of Ritual Mastery

Robert Eno

State University of New York Press

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Published by

State University of New York Press, Albany

©1990 State University of New York

All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical

articles and reviews.

For information, address State University of New York Press, State University Plaza, Albany, N.Y., 12246

Library of Congress Cataloging­in­Publication Data

Eno, Robert, 1949­

The Confucian creation of heaven: philosophy and the defense of

ritual mastery/Robert Eno.

p. cm.—(SUNY series in Chinese philosophy and culture)

Bibliography: p.

Includes index.

ISBN 0­7914­0190­1. —ISBN 0­7914­0191­X (pbk.)

1. Philosophy, Confucian—China—History. 2. Confucianism—China—

History. 3. Heaven—Confucianism—History of doctrines.

4. Confucianism—China—Rituals—History of doctrines. 1. Title.

II. Series.

B127.C65E56 1990

181'.112—dc20 89­31194

CIP

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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to Dick,

my first teacher

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CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS xi

INTRODUCTION 1

PART ONE: SETTING THE RITUAL STAGE

Chapter I Pre­Confucian Heaven 19

1. The Ritual Antecedents of Ruism 19

1.1. The Three Pillars of the Western Chou

1.2. The Patterning of Chou Society

2. T'ien as the King's God 23

2.1. T'ien as a Royal Adversary

2.2. The Injustice of T'ien

2.3. Creating a New T'ien

Chapter II Masters of the Dance 30

1. The Ritual Basis of Ruism 32

1.1. Rationales for Ritual

1.2. The Decline of Ritual

1.3. Confucius' Career

1.4. Legitimizing Li

2. The Political Role of Ruism 42

2.1. The Bifurcated Doctrine of Ruism

2.2. The Missing History of the Ru

2.3. The Textual Imperative of Withdrawal

3. The Community of Ru 52

3.1. The Ruist Study Group

3.2. The Ruist Syllabus

3.3. Philosophers and Funeral Directors

Chapter III The Sage and the Self 64

1. Practical Totalism: The Ruist Doctrine of Sagehood 64

1.1. Jen as a Totalism

1.2. The Single Thread

1.3. The Ritual Path

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2. Sagehood and the Self 69

2.1. The Public Self

2.2. The Social Self

PART TWO: THE CONFUCIAN CREATION OF HEAVEN

Chapter IV Two Levels of Meaning

The Role of T'ien in the Analects

79

1. The Nature of the Text 80

2. The Implicit Theory of T'ien in the Analects 81

2.1. The Prescriptive Role of T'ien

2.2. The Descriptive Role of T'ien

3. Confucius' Doctrinal Silence 94

Chapter V Tactics of Metaphysics

The Role of T'ien in the Mencius

99

1. The Nature of the Text 99

2. The Role of T'ien in Mencius' Political Doctrines and Career 101

3. The Mencian Theory of T'ien: Human Nature and the personal Decree 106

3.1. Mencius and Li

3.2. The Mencian Theory of Human Nature

3.3. Hsing and Ming: The Interface of the Prescriptive and Descriptive

Dimensions of T'ien

Chapter VI Ritual as a Natural Art

The Role of T'ien in the Hsun Tzu

131

1. The Nature of the Text 134

2. The Challenge of Naturalism 138

2.1. Late Warring States Naturalism

3. The Thematic Unity of the Hsun Tzu 144

3.1. The World of Thing as a Taxonomy

3.2. The Natural Logic of Social Forms

3.3. The Cardinal Valuelessness of Human Nature

3.4. Educating the Sage

3.5. Man's Cosmic Role

4. The Hsun Tzu's Theories of T'ien: the "Treatise on T'ien" 154

4.1. The Portrait of T'ien as Nonpurposive Nature

4.2. T'ien as Prescriptive Psychology

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4.3. Forming a Trinity with Heaven and Earth

4.4. T'ien as a Historical Force

4.5. Miscellaneous T'iens

CONCLUSION: SAGEHOOD AND PHILOSOPHY 171

APPENDIX A. THE ORIGINS OF THE TERM "T'IEN" 181

APPENDIX B. A THEORY OF THE ORIGINS OF THE TERM "JU" 190

APPENDIX C. HSUN TZU, "TREATISE ON T'IEN" 198

NOTES 205

GLOSSARY 299

ABBREVIATIONS 317

BIBLIOGRAPHY 321

INDEX 339

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Like the early Confucians whose ghosts inhabit these pages I feel very keenly the debt I owe to my teachers. For more than a decade, Donald Munro guided my

studies with generosity and great liberality, and I am delighted whenever I am identified as his student. My specific focus on early Confucianism reflects the influence of

Mr. Liu Yü­yun, with whom I studied for several years in Taiwan. Mr. Liu taught me to read the texts and to take them seriously as the artifacts of critical decisions

that people have been forced to make, rather than as static models of theory or puzzles in philology.

Several people were instrumental in ensuring the success of research for this book in Taiwan and Japan. I would like to thank in particular Professors Wejen Chang

and Ting Pang­hsin of the Institute of History and Philology at Academia Sinica in Taiwan, and Professor Kanaya Osamu and the members of the Chinese Philosophy

Section at Tohoku * University in Sendai, Japan. Portions of the research for this book were supported through grants from the Social Science Research Council and

the Fulbright Fellowship Program, for which I am most grateful.

A number of scholars have read portions of this book at various stages; they have been generous in their comments and corrections. I would like to thank Irene

Bloom, Kenneth DeWoskin, George Elison, Albert Feuerwerker, Luis Gomez, A. C. Graham, Chad Hansen, Charles Hucker, Virginia Kane, and Jack Meiland. I

have benefited greatly from their suggestions; the errors that remain are my own. Yan Shoucheng has kindly provided the elegant Chinese characters for this book. A

special debt of thanks is due to my former colleague Elsie Orb for her many editorial corrections.

Finally, I would like to thank Candice and Jared and Daniel for being a patient family and making this worthwhile.

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INTRODUCTION

The figures whose words and actions stand at the center of this book are the first Confucians, men who lived between the sixth and third centuries B.C., famous for

their austere humanist ethics and puristic political zealotry. Long after their deaths, their movement grew into the dominant philosophical school of traditional China—a

philosophy by means of which an imperial bureaucracy, with increasingly infrequent interruptions, sustained itself and constrained the parameters of social action and

dialogue throughout two millennia of cultural cohesion. This posterity has formed a thick lens through which we see these men as a particular archetypal company—the

first Mandarins—the founders of social orthodoxy. Great men, great models—perhaps a little dull.

Nor is dullness the only failing to be seen in their traditional portrait. The shape of their philosophy, as interpreted by generations of later Confucians, appears to the

critical Western eye to be little better than a collection of received dogma loosely linked by ad hoc rationalization—more an ideology than a philosophy. When John

Passmore remarked that Chinese thought consisted of ''pronouncements" rather than "philosophy," he surely had classical Confucians in mind (1967:217­218).

But these same men will appear differently here. In our portrait they are dressed in colorful robes, playing zithers or beating drums, chanting, dancing, and living their

lives through an eccentric form of ritual playacting suggestive, perhaps, of nothing as much as Peking Opera. They performed this intricate choreography surrounded

by the scorn of a society that viewed them as hopelessly out of step with the times—but for these first Confucians, their dance was part of an eternal pattern; it was the

times that were out of step.

Austere their ethics may have been, but they were not dull. As for the political activism that so pervades the traditional image of these men, it will not be central to our

portrait. To us it will appear that the extremity of Confucian purism performed the inverse function of isolating the ritual community of early Confucians from the

political hazards of a chaotic era and endowed a style of social withdrawal with the ethical status of conscientious objection.

For us, then, the early Confucian will appear very different from his later descendants (so different that, before we have gone very far, we will feel the need to abandon

the term"Confucian" itself, with all of its traditional

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associations). A comprehensive ritual choreography stands at the focus of his portrait: his paradigmatic role is not the righteous politician, but the master of dance.

Ritual and political facets of the first Confucians will be split in an asymmetrical disjunction, with righteous zealotry stifling political deeds and fostering increasingly

complex ritual activity.

We will illustrate the structure of this disjunction in Confucianism by exploring the complex way in which Confucians employed a term derived from pre­Confucian

religious practice, a word usually rendered in English as "Heaven." This term, which bore an unmatched ethical authority in the rhetoric of early Chinese traditions, had

been cut free from its original moorings of meaning by abrupt social and intellectual changes predating the birth of Confucius, changes that had brought into question

the adequacy of traditional ideas about Heaven. The problematic status of Heaven during this period of transition provided Confucians with an unusual degree of

freedom to recreate Heaven in the image of their new philosophy.

As we pursue an initial inquiry into the sense in which Confucians conceived of Heaven, we will see that they created a Heaven essentially void of consistent features,

and so free to reflect the growing image of their new philosophy and their unique lifestyle. Every attempt to anchor the meaning of the term in a static concept or set of

images fails. This new Confucian Heaven was ultimately the moving reflection of a patterned choreography, elaborated by groups of masters and disciples increasingly

alienated from a society in disruption.

Most surprising in this picture of early Confucianism is that despite the intellectually unlikely project of placing ritual practice at the center of philosophy, early

Confucianism appears from this perspective fully philosophical, possessing coherence and intellectual discipline. However, the style of this philosophy is fundamentally

different from that we have grown to expect from the analytic schools of Western tradition. It was not analytic, and it made no categorical distinction between the

spheres of theory and practice.

To draw a portrait that reveals the coherence and interest of this philosophy, we will follow an interpretive approach that reflects the Confucian notion that a complete

intellectual enterprise involves an essential integration of theory and practice. The ideas of the early Confucian school cannot be captured exclusively in terms of

conceptual architecture. By exploring the role of Heaven in Confucian philosophy seen as a conjunction of articulate statements and historical practices, the unique

structure of this species of philosophical enterprise will become visible.

<><><><><><><><><><><><>

This prelude like a musical overture, has introduced with provoking brevity the most distinctive themes of the work to follow. Obviously any book that undertakes to

characterize Confucius and his followers through their

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role as masters of dance has a lot of explaining to do. Those explanations will start with a discussion of the issues with which this study did, in fact, begin: the

problematic functions of the word "t'ien" or "Heaven" in the primary texts of early Confucianism, the Analects of Confucius, the Mencius, and the Hsun Tzu.

Looking for the Ground of Heaven

The classical texts of early Confucianism are not distinguished by the systematic argumentation and sensitivity to logical justification that characterize Western

philosophical texts from the era of Parmenides and Socrates on. Although both the Mencius and the Hsun Tzu, composed in response to intellectual challenges

mounted by competing schools of thought, do employ techniques of argument to defend Confucian doctrine, the doctrine itself seems always a given, defended but

unquestioned. Where post­Socratic philosophy in the West became a recurrent search for the ground of knowledge, Confucians, China's first philosophers, seem

confident they have a map of that ground in hand, and the ground appears to bear the detailed contours of Chou Dynasty China (1045­221 B.C.).

We are, therefore, entitled to raise the question whether early Confucianism was truly a philosophy, or merely a well­rationalized cultural point of view. The initial basis

of Confucian claims is unclear. Universal axioms of logical or ontological necessity are not formulated, and direct statements describing empirical bases for Confucian

commitments are regularly permeated by vagueness at critical junctures where a modern reader will feel most in need of clarity.

Here is the point of departure for this study. Can careful probing of the vaguest sections of these texts elicit meanings clear enough to reveal some basis for the

confidence of early Confucians that knowledge was attainable and lay in their possession? Among such passages, a single group emerges as at once philosophically

provocative and deeply obscure: statements that include the traditional religious term "t'ien," or "Heaven."

An example from the Mencius, a text dating from the fourth century B.C., will illustrate the point. "He who exhausts his mind," Mencius tells us, "knows his nature; and

knowing his nature, he knows Heaven" (M:7A.1). This is a much­celebrated passage, and it suggests a philosophically provocative link between what we would

identify as epistemological and metaphysical issues, but every phrase is problematic. The promise of the passage is a knowledge of Heaven, but the passage tells us

nothing of what that knowledge might reveal Heaven to be. 1

Such critical vagueness is a problem, but it presents a clear challenge: to seek the ground of Confucian certainty by pursuing the elusive Confucian Heaven.

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The Term "T'ien"

Our first order of business is terminological. The English word "Heaven" translates the Chinese term "t'ien," and the translation is elegant because both words can

denote a deity and also the sky. But just because the translation is so fortuitous, it may have obscured the fact that we know very little about what ''t'ien" meant in

early China, and we will not use it, choosing instead to leave the term untranslated to allow the variety of its meanings to appear. 2

The pre­Confucian history of the term "t'ien" is marked by some of the same sorts of ambiguity we encounter in the Confucian texts. The origins of the term and its

initial meanings are unclear. (These issues are discussed in detail in appendix A.) We do know that from the eleventh century B.C., T'ien was an object of great

religious reverence and the focus of Chou Dynasty aristocratic religious practice. We know very little, however, about the intellectual image in which this T'ien was

conceived.

In time, the word came to denote a complex of overlapping concepts. As far back as the twelfth century, the philosopher Chu Hsi tried to organize this complex by

analyzing T'ien into three distinct aspects: T'ien as Ruler or God; T'ien as Ethical Law; T'ien as Nature (Ikeda 1968:31). More recently, Fung Yu­lan has expanded

this analysis into five divisions: T'ien as the Physical Sky, as Ruler or God, as Fate, as Nature, as Ethical Principle (1931:55).3

These various facets of T'ien have suggested an evolutionary process through which an increasingly sophisticated intellectual tradition gradually moved from a highly

anthropomorphic religious cosmology toward a more rational philosophical view. This model has governed the agenda of previous studies of the role of T'ien in

Confucian texts. Historians of Chinese philosophy such as Fung Yu­lan, Hou Wai­lu, and T'ang Chün­yi, who have written extensively on the subject in the course of

their longer works, and monographic writers in China and elsewhere (e.g., Dubs 1958; Ikeda 1965), generally have framed the issue of T'ien's role in early

Confucianism by asking which of the various images of T'ien is appropriately assigned to each instance of the word in Confucian texts. They have tailored their

interpretations to respond, either positively or negatively, to the hypothesis that the predominant image governing philosophical discussion of T'ien evolved from an

anthropomorphic image in the mid­Chou period to an image of Nature by the end of the Chou.4

But what is striking in the Confucian texts is the apparent promiscuity with which the various images are employed. So terse a work as the Analects, which refers to

T'ien only a handful of times, can be read as exemplifying the five dimensions in Fung's analysis. As the Sky: "The insurmountable height of Confucius' achievements is

comparable to the sky, to which no

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staircase can ascend" (A:19.25); as Ruler: "At the age of fifty, I knew T'ien's command" (A:2.4); as Fate: "Wealth and status are up to T'ien" (A:12.5); as Nature:

"T'ien does not speak, yet the four seasons turn, the myriad things are born" (A:17.17); as Ethical Principle: ''Only T'ien is great, only the Emperor Yao emulated

it" (A:8.19). 5 Even the Hsun Tzu, which devotes an entire chapter to a discussion of T'ien, proves upon analysis to employ the term in most of these senses (as we

will discover in chapter VI), and as the passage from the Mencius cited earlier suggests, in some instances the texts employ the word with a vagueness so profound as

to defy any conceptual limitation whatever.

Now, it would be unfair to demand that a philosophical text be consistent in its use of key terms; ambiguity may be central to a philosophical point.6 For example, the

Analects is notably inconsistent in its various discussions of the key term "jen" (sometimes translated as "humaneness"), and this obscurity represents precisely the

problem that it seems Confucius wished to present to his disciples for reflection when he used the term (see chapter III). Those who can grasp a unity behind this

diversity have presumably grasped the complex and partially ineffable meaning of "jen." The example of "jen" suggests that our best and perhaps only means of

discovering the meaning of "t'ien" is to ponder the variety of statements about that term until we factor out, as a sort of algebraic constant common to all instances of

the term, the esoteric concept the Confucians were trying to convey, independent of any specific images associated with T'ien.

But were Confucians using the art of ambiguity to make this sort of philosophical point in the case of "t'ien?" T'ien differs from "jen" because it is difficult to establish

that it was a "key concept" for Confucians prior to the Han Dynasty. On the contrary, early Confucian philosophy seems directed away from metaphysics and religion,

and historically, T'ien was first and foremost a metaphysical and religious idea.

If T'ien was not a defining interest of Confucianism, then a different sort of methodology is needed to elucidate the meaning of the term. The variety of expressions

might not point to any single, ineffable unity, but might reflect the multifarious ways in which a complex traditional concept was functionally related to those things which

were of central interest to Confucians. The long­established ambiguities associated with T'ien made the term extraordinarily malleable and ideally suited to serve as a

rhetorical anchor to lay upon any philosophical ground whatever. In other words, if Confucianism was not "about" T'ien, the meaning of T'ien for Confucians ought to

be expressed as a relation to what Confucianism was about.

This simple formula redirects our attention. Instead of searching directly for some unified concept of T'ien beneath a variety of expressions, we will search for a

consistency in the relations between statements about T'ien

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and the core interests of early Confucianism. And because we will be exploring this relationship through texts written over several centuries (c. 500­200 B.C.), we will

be looking, too, for its elaboration and development.

Early Confucianism and the Ru

Already, our project appears quite changed. We undertook to define the Heaven of early Confucianism; now it appears we must first define early Confucianism itself.

Our guiding hypothesis will be this:

The extreme instability of the term "t'ien" in early Confucian texts, and the willingness to allow so rhetorically prominent a term to be employed without theoretical coherence, must

reflect the force of a coherent set of core interests that governed formulations of doctrine and whose free expression could only be impeded by the friction of a fixed concept of

T'ien.

A key element of this hypothesis is the introduction of the extra­theoretical notion of "interests." The reasoning here is that if the early Confucian enterprise were

adequately definable as an attempt to build a theoretical construct, it is highly unlikely that Confucians would not have undertaken to devise a consistent theory to

govern a term such as "t'ien." Our suggestion is that the volatility of Confucian theory in general, and of the term "t'ien" in particular, reflects the guiding influence of

an extra­theoretical core of early Confucianism. This core we may suppose to represent the elusive ground of Confucian certainty and its contours should be reflected

by the complex functions of T'ien in the texts.

To suggest that the core of early Confucianism may have lain outside Confucian theory is to imply that early Confucianism is not properly conceived as a philosophical

enterprise in the Western sense. Surely the essential core of philosophies such as Platonism, Thomism, Rationalism, Idealism, and so forth, lies in the theoretical

architectures articulated by the followers of each school.

Confucianism is different. The term "Confucianism" itself is highly confused, sometimes describing a set of doctrines or an ideology of state, sometimes a cultural point

of view, sometimes a way of life. 7 In its earliest incarnation, the tangible constituents of Confucianism were the members of a small group of men known as "Ru," who

viewed their distinguishing trait as a commitment to a particular set of ideas and well­defined practices, with no sharp division possible between the two. Any analysis

that assumes that early Confucianism is adequately conceived as a set of ideas, on the model of Western philosophical enterprises, fails to approach the school on its

own terms and cannot help but encounter a wealth of enigmatic problems.

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It will be best for us to relinquish entirely the term "Confucian," burdened as it is with ambiguities and irrelevant traditional associations. As we turn toward a

description of the school of Confucius, we will call its members by the name they originally bore, "Ru"; their philosophy we will call "Ruism." 8 The origins and nature

of the Ruist school and its ritual focus will occupy us throughout the first portion of this book. Prior to embarking on a detailed exploration of the school, however, we

should clarify precisely how our approach to Ruism will represent it as a nonanalytic philosophy and how this determines the strategies we will choose in examining the

role of T'ien.

The Nonanalytic Agenda of Ruist Philosophy

The configurations of the revised portrait of Ruism that will emerge from this study have already been suggested. By drawing the outlines of the school in conformity

with the notion that theory and practice were essentially integrated, we will be led to picture Ruism more as a community of men than as a body of doctrine. Programs

of ritual activity will appear as the distinguishing core of that community. Consequently, the explicit doctrines that were articulated as a product of these activities will

be most coherently expressed by their relation to the activities themselves: either as reports of perspectives generated through core practices, or as defensive

rationalizations possessing the instrumental value of promoting and preserving the ritual core.

Clearly, if we describe Ruism in this fashion, we are effectively conceding that it was not philosophical in the Western analytic sense. In most branches of the Western

tradition we find an implicit belief that the structure of the real world should, in principle, be subject to theoretical description. The philosophical enterprise is built on

the notion that the natural world must make sense—that its structure is in some way parallel to the structures of human reason.9 Ultimately, philosophical knowledge is

knowledge of right theory. Philosophy might prescribe practices as a product of ethical theories of value, but practices, other than the practice of logical discipline in

reason, are not a part of philosophy itself.

The centrality of practice in Ruism indicates that it was not a philosophy in this sense. Ruist texts, in fact, include statements that explicitly deny the ultimate value of

logic and reason in the search for knowledge. The school rejects the analytic enterprise, and so, on the face of it, Ruism seems nonphilosophical.

However, Ruism had its own set of implicit assumptions about knowledge and the world, and when we examine these Ruism clearly was not nonphilosophical, but

was rather a nonanalytic species of philosophy.

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It has often been noted that early Confucian texts seem to use the word "knowledge" in the sense of "knowing how" more often than in the sense of "knowing that";

that is, in the sense of skill­knowledge rather than fact­knowledge or theory­knowledge (e.g., Lau 1979:43­44; Hansen 1983:64­65). This is not simply a matter of

frequency; it a fundamental characteristic of Ruism as a nonanalytic philosophy. Ruists did not picture the world as an infinite collection of intrinsically atomic particular

entities structured by a limited set of deterministic relational laws, such that every actual array of entities necessarily exemplified the universal structures of reality.

Conceiving the things of the Ruist world as possessing intrinsic relational norms would be more accurate. 10 An actual array of things—an encountered situation—

might fully exemplify these norms, but it might also exemplify a disorder in which things were displaced out of their natural relational positions. Chaos is possible. From

such a viewpoint, the state of things in the world is not merely a matter of fact; it is intrinsically a matter of value. Knowledge in such a world must reflect this value

dimension. The goal is not a search for descriptive theories that make sense of the world as an atemporal order, it is a search for the skills to configure the world

according to its natural order, to perceive and fulfill a lifelong series of immediate imperatives.11

The project of the Ruist enterprise was to endow the individual with the skills needed to function in an ethical universe. What was necessary was not to analyze an

underlying order to the world, but to synthesize the skills that could bring the world into natural order.

Skill Mastery and Ruism

The word "philosophy" was, of course, missing from the Ruist lexicon; the Ru described their program by a traditional word, "tao," and the meaning of the term

reflects the nature of the program.

The word "tao" is probably best translated as "teaching," and in Chou Dynasty China, a tao was conceived as a coherent teaching that involved two elements:

practices and statements.12 The master of a tao viewed the practices as central because mastery of the practices generated a new perspective from which to view the

world. To teach the practices, however, words were required, both to attract disciples and to instruct them, and eventually individual taos became known through

texts composed to persuade and to instruct.13

These texts included statements about the world subject to judgments of truth and falsity, but they differed from statements that characterize Western philosophy

because the evidence of their validity could only be obtained through mastery of the practices that lay behind them. No test of theoretical cogency could be relevant

because the practitioners of taos assumed

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that the conceptual frameworks we use to determine truth are not generated analytically, but are the product of practical interaction with the world through experience.

As a tao structures experience, it synthesizes a perspective, and the truth of a text's explicit claims cannot be evaluated outside that perspective.

The underlying hypothesis that an individual's repertoire of skills determines the interpretive options available to him for understanding the world is central to Ruism.

Ruists had no faith in logical or ontological axioms that universally possessed powers of reason might confirm as self­evident (their philosophical adversaries, the

Mohists, busied themselves in deriving these). 14 The masters of the Ruist tao saw truths in the world that reason did not reveal, and their concern as teachers was in

transmitting to disciples their point of view. The core of the Ruist program was logically prior to an analytic agenda: their concern was not in analysis of the implications

of self­evident axioms; it was in the synthesis of the axioms themselves.

In this sense, Ruism may be termed "synthetic philosophy." Its central methodology involved the careful design of a syllabus of practice rather than in rigor of rational

argument. The heart of Ruism lay outside its texts in a detailed training course of ritual, music, and gymnastics. Masters and disciples spent considerable time discussing

these practices and elaborating theories that rationalized their value. Such discussion was an ancillary activity. However, given the nature of texts, it is these discussions

and theories that occupy the foreground of our view of Ruism.

The suggested link between one's repertoire of skills and one's natural perspective on the world that seems to underlie the Ruist enterprise was not a widely held tenet

of traditional Western philosophies. The obvious relativistic implications would not have been congenial to most thinkers prior to this century, when the philosophical

quest was generally cast as a search for objective absolutes. More recently, certain Western writers have examined the relationship between skill mastery and other

forms of knowing and their work suggests the validity of Ruist assumptions.15 Jean Piaget's studies of the way children learn illustrate links between the acquisition of

basic motor skills and the construction of basic concepts of the world and time.16 Michael Polanyi, a philosophical critic of science, developed detailed models

describing the way individual growth involves a rhythm of attention to new skills as they are mastered followed by attention to the world through those mastered skills;

in each instance, the newly acquired skills shape one's perception of structures, values, and imperatives.17 One need only think of the identifiably idiosyncratic values

and behaviors of people whose careers are shaped by commitments to well­defined "disengaged" arenas of skill, such as the arts or sports, to glimpse the manner in

which skill configurations may govern both the perspectives and the "personali­

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ties" of individuals. 18 So deeply may skill systems determine who we are that we can analogize the mastery of a new skill to the extension of the physical body 19 The

matrices of mastered skills create the pattern of possibilities through which we live, and in this sense, we can consider our skills as the constituents of what we are as

individual persons.

Ruist philosophical activity was predicated on this idea, and training disciples in the Ruist syllabus was conceived very much as the creation of new men. A passing

comment in the Hsun Tzu conveys this notion well enough: "Body is not so powerful as mind; mind is not so powerful as art—once the proper arts are mastered, the

mind will follow them" (H:5.3). Thus, the ritual arts formed the core of the Ruist tao; once they were mastered, the proper view of the world—the proper theory—

would follow.

The Instrumental Role of Ruist Theory

If the core of Ruism was the body of ritual practice that dominated its syllabus, then we are faced with a difficult interpretive problem when dealing with Ruist texts.

Traditionally, these texts have been analyzed to elucidate the theoretical architecture their various statements imply. But if Ruist philosophy was synthetic rather than

analytic, then theory served only secondary functions for the school, and those functions did not necessarily require or value the creation of a coherent theoretical

archtecture. We may have been reading the texts with irrelevant expectations.

The discursive component of the Ruist tao can be described as including three different functional components: (1) an instructional function, (2) a defensive

rationalizing function, and (3) a reportative function.

The instructional function is reflected in the texts we possess by a great wealth of admonitory statements and by innumerable statements of and about ritual procedures

(the text of the Yi­li is the best example of the latter).

By far the greatest part of the Ruist texts, and the portion that has most occupied interpreters, belongs to the second functional area, that of rationalization. From the

start, Ruist texts must have performed a persuasive function, attracting the ritually unwashed into the community of disciples, and many statements in the texts are

attempts to legitimize the Ruist enterprise to those who stand on the ground of common sense. Passages that offer homely ad hoc explanations for Ruist practices

would belong to this group, 20 as might passages seeking to explain political failures of the school (a group in which T'ien plays a major role, as we will discover). In

addition, as time elapsed, Ruist texts became to an increasing extent polemical responses to the philosophical challenges of competing schools and of sceptics, and in

the process they began to incorporate sophisticated argumentation and theoretical constructs. This large body of Ruist theory, how­

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ever, was not elaborated with any goal of systematic coherence. The goal was primarily instrumental: to defend the core of the school and its practices and lifestyle

from attacks on its legitimacy that might lead to the dissolution of the Ruist community.

When we reformulate the program of this study by casting it as a search for the meaning of T'ien as a function of the core interests of Ruism, we anticipate that

because of their lack of theoretical integration statements about T'ien most frequently performed a rationalizing role. Consequently, we abandon any effort to look for a

consistent referential meaning of the term "t'ien"—any stable image or concept that could provide a dictionary­style gloss for the term in each text—and determine

instead to look for coherence in the instrumental relation that Ruist statements about T'ien may have borne to the preservation and growth of the school's practical

core. 21

The primary nature of Ruist texts was instrumental; the noninstrumental practical core of the school lay elsewhere. But we should also be alert for the possibility that in

some instances, the texts may not merely be engaged in legitimizing this core, but may be reporting directly what it was, and in such cases it may be that the term

"t'ien" played a role in helping Ruists express their unique viewpoint. If Ruists were engaged in a prolonged and intensive process of skill acquisition, which was

designed to generate a radically new perspective on the world, it would not be too surprising to find that they did in fact see things as others did not, and, recognizing

this, simply reported what they saw. Nor, given the apparent willingness of individual Ru to devote entire lifetimes to the practice of ritual skills, should we be surprised

to find that the Ruist perspective revealed a world of deep rewards, threaded together by a thematic logos paralleling the coherence of Ruist ritual practice. When we

encounter passages in which Ruists claim knowledge of T'ien and in which T'ien appears so vague as to be linked to no particular traditional concept, we may ask

whether the author simply sees something which we do not and cannot see, the Ruist ritual path being closed to us forever.

This leads us to the final theme of this introductory chapter: the notion of a coherent totalistic Ruist perspective, expressed by the concept of the Ruist Sage.

Philosophical Coherence: Ruist Sagehood

As noted above synthetic philosophy is inherently relativistic: it may well be so that self­evident truths are accessible only through the mastery of skills, but no criteria

by which one could evaluate the relative merits of one set of skills and truths vis­à­vis another seem evident.

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Ruists did not acknowledge the necessity of such relativism, and they claimed that their tao was the only valid one. Their claim rested on two elements, one theoretical

and the other practical—history and Sagehood.

The historical claim rested on the sources of the specific content of the Ruist syllabus. The rituals that the Ru celebrated were not arbitrary: they were the intricate

codes of the most successful political organization known to East Asian civilization to that date—the early Chou Dynasty. The enormous—in the Ruist view, perfect—

success of the early Chou state was used to legitimize the absolute value of the codes (a process of transference that we will examine in chapter I). But more

important, the early Chou was viewed by the Ruists as the culmination of an evolutionary process of universal history: the ordering of the natural world in conformity

with the patterns of its inherent relational norms. Chou rituals were seen as the outcome of an inevitable learning process, a natural tendency of the human species to

grasp and respond to the value imperatives that call through the disorder of the world as given.

An attractive theory, but merely a theory, after all. The practical element behind the Ruist claim to absolute knowledge was different in kind. From this angle, Ruists

rested their claim of certainty on the evident comprehensiveness of the perspective that their tao generated. The Ruist texts report that the individual who mastered the

multifaceted but thematically coherent ritual syllabus would discover powers of practical understanding of a degree far beyond those accessible to ordinary men. The

trained Ru, it was maintained, could "read" the world much as someone possessed of proper language skills can read a book, easily interpreting each entirely new

page according to the powers of understanding engendered by his mastery. Inherent structures of values and natural imperatives were clear to his eye, and response

according to these norms had become as spontaneous as turning a page is for a reader.

Now, this too reads like a theory, but the difference here is that Ruists claimed to have empirical evidence of its truth from their own experience, and while none would

claim to be himself a Sage, many clearly considered themselves to have glimpsed this perspective of totalistic coherence, and all agreed that certain great Ru, such as

Confucius himself, embodied it fully.

The Ruist vision of Sagehood appears, in the final analysis, to be the bedrock of Ruist certainty, the center of gravity that kept the disparate doctrines and practices of

the school from disintegrating into the ad hoc mass that they may appear to be from the outside. The pivotal role of the ideal of the Sage is reflected in the enormous

importance that Ruists granted to the model of the master as an educational device. If the heart of Ruism lay in the transformation of men into ritual Sages, it followed

that the teacher represented to a greater or lesser degree the embodiment of the philoso­

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phy, surpassing in importance not only texts, but even the rituals themselves. As the Hsun Tzu puts it: "In study, nothing is more helpful than to stay close to the man

[i.e., one's model or teacher]. . . . The exaltation of ritual is next best. . . . If one merely memorizes exegeses of the Poetry and Documents, then forever unto death

one can be no more than a base Ru" (H:1.35­37). 22

Did Ruists actually become Sages—men whose perceptions of the world formed a perfect moral phenomenology? Well, we live in an age of scepticism, and can only

suppose not. But whether Ruists possessed an experiential basis for their vision is another question. Certainly we encounter ostensibly reportative passages in the Ruist

texts so vivid in their descriptions of what we might call "heightened states of consciousness" that it would require doltish insensitivity to ignore them. In chapter II, we

will see that Ruist education aimed at transforming thought and behavior through a thoroughly prescripted choreography of daily living, extending from the most prosaic

acts of personal conduct to an ultimate celebration in the splendor of ceremonial ritual and dance. In our conclusion, we will speculate on the way in which such skills

may have generated experiences of certainty and control over delimited arenas of action that could well have formed the model for the idealized notion of totalistic

Sagehood that disciples viewed as the self­evident legitimization of the Ruist tao.

Ultimately, we will describe this vision of Sage perfection of thought and motion in the everyday world through a metaphor meaningful to Ruist practice: the experience

of dancing with complete command one's part in a grand ritual dance, able to evaluate every movement on the vast dance floor by its relation to one's own perfect

motion. We will see the Ruist social ideal of ritual utopia as a vision of society transformed into an eternal and comprehensible field of dance, with each individual a

Sage whose mastery of his or her determinate dance role allows the entire stage of society to appear as a predictable and understandable phenomenology.

Programmatic Summary

This introductory chapter has suggested the difficulties raised by the elusiveness of the Ruist notion of T'ien and outlined the model of Ruism that will be central to our

approach to resolving them. In the body of this study we will separate rather sharply the projects of delineating the synthetic core of Ruism and of expressing the Ruist

concept of T'ien as a function of that core structure.

Chapters I through III form a unified group devoted to outlining the origins, configuration, and philosophical implications of the Ruist ritual community. These three

chapters respond to the basic fact that the idea of a

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philosophy treating the accidental patterns of social and religious custom as its pivot of value is, in Western perspectives, somewhat implausible. Chapter I undertakes

to establish the historical logic of Ruism's ritual commitment by examining the conditions under which Ruism and Chinese philosophy in general were born. We will see

that critical thought in China grew out of an acute crisis in values that shaped the intellectual history of China from the eighth through the third centuries B.C. At the

heart of this value crisis lay the issue of theodicy, and we will see that the rise of ritual as a category of philosophical significance was directly tied to the fall of T'ien as

a stable ethical and religious foundation. In this context, the Ruist reconstruction of T'ien as the legitimizing ground for ritual makes sense.

Chapter II contains our historical portrait of the Ruist movement and its central interests. This portrait will be drawn largely from historical texts, the Analects, the

Mencius, and various ritual books that circulated during the Han period. We will see that Ruism was not primarily a political movement, but was first and foremost

groups of men meeting to practice and discuss ritual ceremonies and music, immediately motivated by the ideal expectation of attaining transcendent wisdom and the

practical expectation of employment as a ritual Master. The expectation of political roles was secondary and to a great extent tactical, the professed expectation rather

than the actual achievement serving to legitimize ritual interests.

Chapter III addresses in more detail the issue of how the individuals who joined the Ruist community could plausibly have believed that ritual practice could have been

so ethically and practically efficacious. Our analysis will focus on the ideal of ritual Sagehood, which we will characterize as a comprehensive "totalistic" goal, which

aimed to reshape every aspect of the individual. A discussion of Ruist notions of self revealed through the texts will illustrate the plausibility of such a totalistic goal, by

illustrating that the "self" undergoing transformation in the Ruist model included malleable "public" dimensions excluded from traditional portraits of the self in Western

thought.

Chapters IV through VI undertake close textual analysis of instances of the word "t'ien" in early Ruist texts. We begin in chapter IV by exploring the role of T'ien in

the Analects. We will encounter there a structure of instrumental meaning that forms a theme throughout our three early texts. This structure rests on a dual role that

T'ien played, acting both as a prescriptive authority legitimizing Ruist ritual interests, and as a descriptive historical force that provided a teleological explanation of the

politically outcast status that Ruism was both forced to and preferred to play during the late Chou.

Chapter V will focus on the Mencius. The Mencius is the earliest Ruist text to discuss T'ien in theoretical terms, and we will explore the motiva­

Page 15

tion for this interest in metaphysical speculation and the models that it generated. We will conclude that the metaphysical theory of the Mencius was an integral part of

a strategy to mount a defensive structure of rhetoric that could protect Ruist ritual interests from powerful attacks launched by competing philosophical schools.

In chapter VI we will turn to the Hsun Tzu, a work whose views on T'ien have been much analyzed. Prior scholarship has yielded a consensus agreement that the

Hsun Tzu conceived T'ien as Nature. We will suggest that this conclusion, while largely accurate, does not tell the whole story, and we will explore its limits. The Hsun

Tzu's equation of T'ien and Nature was largely a cooptation of ideas developed by a disparate variety of late Chou naturalistic philosophies. These schools presented

the greatest challenges to Ruism during the third century B.C., and the Hsun Tzu employs notions of T'ien characteristic to them in order to defend Ruist ritual interests

against their attack. Underlying the text's naturalistic portrait of T'ien, however, we discover a use of the prescriptive and descriptive roles of T'ien that has much

continuity with the portraits of the Analects and Mencius. Once again, T'ien is described so as to legitimize Ruist ritual commitment. The form that description takes is

in response to the philosophical environment of the day.

Finally, in the brief concluding chapter we will return to the theoretical issues of this introduction and discuss them in terms of what we have learned about the structure

of early Ruism and the role of T'ien in Ruist doctrine. Our theme will be that the Ruist T'ien had always to be a function of a particular system of skills idealized by

Ruists as Sagehood, and we will close with a speculative discussion of the structure of that Ruist ideal.

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PART ONE SETTING THE RITUAL STAGE

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Chapter IPre­Confucian Heaven

The central theory of this study holds that it is not possible to understand the functional meaning of the term ''t'ien" in early Ruist texts without grasping the depth of the

intellectual and practical commitments of Ruists to Chou Dynasty ritual: li. That primary commitment is itself a puzzle. How is it possible that the foremost philosophy

of China should be grounded on the ascription of cardinal value to what were, in the final analysis, accidental patterns of behavior particular to a single historical era? If

we are to argue the cogency of a ritual­centered portrait of early Ruism, it is necessary to demonstrate not merely the evidence for such a claim, but its basic

plausibility. In this chapter, we will sketch an outline account of the historical background that made Confucius' celebration of ritual a logical response to the intellectual

demands of his time. Part of the analysis involves a discussion of the general pervasiveness of ritual behavior in pre­Confucian China and its social function. Concern

with ritual was no Ruist innovation, although the notion of ritual as a focal category of value most likely was.

But the particular historical circumstances behind the emergence of ritual as a philosophical focus are also central to our inquiries concerning T'ien. Confucius' turn to

ritual li was directly related to the discrediting of a belief that had served as the basic anchor of value during the early Chou: the belief in an omnipotent and

omnibenevolent power guaranteeing social order—T'ien. The rise of li as a cardinal value can be seen as a function of the fall of T'ien.

1.

The Ritual Antecedents of Ruism

The central role that ritual plays in the early stages of social organization is well known. One anthropologist has speculated that its symbolic systems of activity provide

for human beings the sorts of coded information that are transmitted genetically as instinct in other animal species (Geertz 1973:92­3). Another point of view holds that

ritual codes are one medium through which a human community is able to sustain an efficient interaction with the stable ecosystem in which it lives (Rappaport

1971:71). 1

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The nature of these theories alone suggests our growing awareness of the enormous importance that ritual can play in society. Paul Wheatley has discussed the role of

ritual in the genesis of urban communities in these terms:

Whenever, in any of the seven regions of primary urban generation [including China] we trace back the characteristic urban form to its beginnings we arrive not at a settlement

that is dominated by commercial relations, a primordial market, or at one that is focused on a citadel and archetypal fortress, but rather at a ceremonial complex (1971:225).

Evidence from the earliest period of Chinese civilization of which we have written record, the Shang Dynasty (c. 1766­1045 B.C.), suggests that Chinese culture was,

from a very early time, highly ritualized. The Shang rulers, who presided for many centuries as hegemons over a confederacy of tribal units, left records in the form of

divination inscriptions, known as oracle texts. 2 These inscriptions, unearthed by archeologists during this century, afford us a detailed view of certain aspects central to

the concerns of the Shang ruling house, particularly matters of religious practice.3

The religious picture revealed through the oracle texts is extraordinarily complex, particularly in light of the fact that the baroque network of ritual we are shown

pertains only to the royal house of the Shang: popular religion is not accessible to us. The Shang ruler was responsible for maintaining sacrifices to a bewildering

number of nature deities, culture heroes, and royal ancestors, the last group ever growing.4 By the eleventh century B.C. the king was obliged, on every day of the

year, to stage a major ceremony marking the annual sacrifice to a prominent royal deity.5

The religious obligations of the Shang royal house reflected the ritual­centered nature of Shang society. Communities of priests and diviners bustled about the capital,

and as Wheatley has noted, the demand for ritual artifacts of jade and bronze—which dazzle our eyes in museums today—made the ritual industries the focus of

technological innovation for late Shang society (Wheatley 1971:73).6

During the eleventh century B.C. a tribe on the Western periphery of the Shang confederacy, the Chou, grew dissatisfied with its subordinate role. Under a leader

known to history as King Wen, Chou political power seems to have begun a period of rapid growth.7 Under King Wen's son, King Wu (The Martial King), the Chou

revolted against their Shang overlords. In 1045 B.C., on the plain of Mu­yeh outside the walls of the Great City of Shang, King Wu, tradition tells us, led his troops in

a great dance of war, and, on the following day, the Chou were the rulers of the Central Kingdom.8

With the coming of the Chou, Chinese civilization experienced fundamental changes in social and political structure. The early Chou rulers

Page 21

were not content to maintain the loose tribal hegemony that seems to have characterized the Shang. Immediately after the conquest, King Wu and his successors

began policies of mass resettlement and political enfeoffment that soon resulted in direct control by members of the royal house or their stalwarts over most of the

territory of the Chinese cultural sphere. 9

This redrawing of the political landscape opened a remarkable period of stability in China. From the middle of the reign of King Ch'eng in the eleventh century B.C. to

the reign of King Yi in the early ninth century, the historical record is remarkably blank. Although occasional crises of royal succession and military setbacks do occur,

these seem to have been well­spaced in the overall context of political calm, and in the retrospective eye of historical tradition, they served only to accent the dominant

theme of tranquility.10 What stands out is the gradual consolidation and expansion of the Chou polity under a succession of comparatively capable kings and

regents.11 This century and a half, as featureless as utopia, is the true backdrop of the Ruist vision of the world.

1.1.

The Three Pillars of the Western Chou

In the view of later Ruists, living amidst the decay of the Chou social order, the early centuries of the Chou Dynasty represented the acme of human potential.12 This

period of the Western Chou (1045­771 B.C.), as it is known, came to be regarded by later generations as a golden age of peace and virtue. This reverent view is not

surprising. The Western Chou kings successfully administered a unified empire long before any entity of comparable size and duration had been created in the West.

The early Chou Dynasty was remarkable.13

The architecture of the Chou polity was sustained by three pillars of social order: the institution of the kingship, the institution of hereditary succession to political office

or social occupation, and the unifying force of a state religious system centered on the king and his god, T'ien. These constituted consensus foundations for value in

Western Chou society.

The innovative political program of King Wu, along with salutary contributions of the Duke of Chou, who succeeded him as regent, served to strengthen the power

and raise the prestige of the early kings far beyond their Shang predecessors.14 In terms of the mechanics of social stability, the pseudofeudal structure of Chou

political administration combined with normal forces of social inertia to produce a society firmly committed to the notion of hereditary social roles, a pattern that must

have made Western Chou life comfortably predictable.

The kingship and hereditary "feudal" structure were the practical bases of Chou social order. But their legitimacy and intellectual power rested upon the third pillar of

the early Chou: the explicit claim that Chou rule was

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no more than an agency for the benevolent will of T'ien, and that government was, in effect, an organ for the discharge of religious responsibilty. During the early

centuries of social tranquility, the benign image of T'ien seemed plainly visible in a succession of adequate rulers. When the quality of Chou rule declined in the ninth

century B.C. the nagging riddle that began to undermine beliefs and values was not how the House of Chou could decay, but how a benevolent T'ien could allow a

decadent house to retain the throne. The debasement of the ruling king entailed the debasement of the ruling god, and this is the impetus that set philosophical thought

in motion.

However, even during the brightest days of T'ien and the Chou kings, the ritual patterns to which philosophy would first turn as a new ground for value were being

woven.

1.2.

The Patterning of Chou Society

The three pillars of the Western Chou anchored that society for two centuries. And during that period, encircling each of these pillars grew a network of highly stylized

political, religious, and social etiquette, mirroring throughout the Chou polity the affinity for ritual behavior that seems to have typified the Shang.

The intricacy of the ritual system of the Western Chou is probably difficult to overstate. Throughout the period we see a growing profusion of the paraphernalia of

ritual, particularly bronze ritual vessels. Nearly all contemporary inscriptions of any length describe religious or political ceremonies, often in great detail and invariably

in language itself highly stylized. 15 Even allowing for the exaggerated detail in later Ruist accounts of Chou ceremonies, the question can only be the degree to which

ritual constituted the grammar of social intercourse among the elite, not the fact that it did.16

A single detail reveals much about this aspect of Chou culture. The ritual articulation of Chou society is reflected in a passage in the Analects in which Confucius

comments: "The Chou was a mirror of the previous two eras; how rich were its patterns (wen)!" (A:3.14). The word "wen," which we will see later was a key term

in Ruist ritual doctrines, was used in the Western Chou to denote a type of personal virtue.17 The original meaning of the term is revealing. The early graph pictured an

outstretched human body with an outsized chest, upon which appeared a pattern whose particular form might vary. 18 Inscriptional and later textual evidence indicates

that the graph may have depicted a dancer costumed as a bird with a patterned feather breast.19 On sacrificial vessels of the Western Chou period, the word

commonly is used to honor a deceased ancestor, sometimes in parallel with the word ''huang," a term also drawn from dance.20

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"Pattern" denotes the original sense of the term "wen," and its positive connotations are conveyed by the choice of a ritual symbol for the graph. 21 The applications

of the word in extended senses of "beautiful,'' "cultured" and "honored" reflect broadening of the term from an aesthetic notion to an ethical one. Its centrality to

Western Chou civilization is reflected in the fact that "wen" was the word selected as the posthumous name of King Wen, the founder of the dynasty, father to King

Wu.22

All this suggests the care with which the Chou ruling class relied upon aesthetic criteria of ritual conduct to shape social behavior. Yet the Western Chou people

probably did not consciously view themselves as a "ritual society," or conceive of ritual as a distinct category. Our evidence suggests that not until later did the term

used to mean "ritual," "li," come to have a generic sense.23 During the period of the Western Chou itself, ritual codes were not likely stressed as sources legitimizing

action and status. Positive bases of value were provided by the pillars of kingship, hereditary roles, and, ultimately, the sanction of T'ien. Ritual was not perceived as

the distinguishing characteristic of the Western Chou until the pillars of the era had largely decayed. But once they had, it was logical that Chou ritual codes should

inherit their role as value standards.

2.

T'ien as the King's God

According to tradition, at the time of the Chou conquest, King Wu and his supporters legitimized their action in overthrowing the Shang by claiming that the Chou had

simply acted as the agents of T'ien. This claim, known as the doctrine of the Mandate of Heaven, asserted that T'ien was an omnipotent guarantor of tranquility and

justice in the Central Kingdom. T'ien fulfilled its guarantee by intervening occasionally in human affairs whenever the virtue of the ruling house of China declined beyond

a critical level. On such occasions, the Chou founders explained, T'ien would effectively order the most virtuous house in the land to displace the offending royal line

and succeed to the throne. The claim was simply proved: had omnipotent T'ien not wished the Chou to occupy the throne, it would not have enabled the conquest to

occur.24

These arguments were effective in reconciling the peoples of the Shang polity to Chou rule. But they had yet another function. Whereas the Shang king had been

merely chief priest to the high gods, the Mandate of Heaven theory made the Chou king T'ien's executor on earth.25 T'ien and the king were now nearly

indistinguishable.26 During the period of vigorous Chou rule, T'ien was virtually the personal deity of the king. Only the king was permitted to have intercourse with

T'ien through sacrifice. When T'ien was spoken of by others, it was always with reference to the king, or to affairs of

Page 24

state under the king's direction. People who were not members of the royal house neither sacrificed to nor prayed to T'ien. In terms of function, T'ien was practically

reduced to the king. 27

The identification of T'ien and king is marked by their significant coincidence of powers and interests, as is revealed in contemporary inscriptional texts. One of the

kings, probably King K'ang (r. 1005­977 B.C.), exhorts an appointee in these terms: "Steady and diligent, remonstrate from dawn to dusk; exhaust yourself in service,

fearing the awesomeness of T'ien."28 T'ien will punish those who do not serve the king well, and the executor of that punishment will surely be the king himself.

The point is made even more clearly by the Pan kuei inscription. There the king sends his generals off to war with the order: "Within three years settle the eastern

lands so that none is not peaceful, assured of the awesomeness of T'ien."29 Yet it will not be T'ien they hold in awe, but the king's army. A general responds, "These

people have foolishly courted disaster; they are all deaf to T'ien's orders, and so will perish."30 Yet the orders they ignore are not T'ien's but the king's.31

The identification of T'ien and king naturally helped legitimize the Chou claim to the throne. What is often overlooked is that the stable rule provided by the early Chou

kings legitimized T'ien's choice. The king and T'ien were linked in the action of good government, and under these conditions, it was possible for a sense of T'ien as an

ethically prescriptive force to grow.32 During the heyday of the Western Chou, political success gradually strengthened the dual belief in the legitimacy of the Chou

order, and in the omnipotent goodness of the god who had mandated it.

2.1.

T'ien as a Royal Adversary

The vigorous rule of the early Chou kings legitimized T'ien, the king's god. But from the mid­ninth century B.C. the fortunes of the royal house went into a steep

decline. The border "barbarians" were no longer subjugated with ease, the Chou kings attracted increasing disrespect, one even being exiled, and internal dissension

arose. In 771 B.C., the dynasty was forced to flee the capital and relocate in Lo­yang to the east. The Western Chou was at its end; it was followed by a prolonged

period of war and suffering.

In some late Western Chou bronze inscriptions, the king continued to claim the protection of T'ien, as evidenced by a rather boastful inscription on a vessel apparently

cast by King Li (r. 859­842) that refers both to T'ien and to "ti" the term used to denote a supreme deity in the Shang:

The king said: I am but a small child, yet unstintingly day and night, I act in harmony with the former kings to be worthy of august T'ien. . . . [I] make this sacrificial

Page 25

food vessel, this precious kuei­vessel, to succor those august paradigms, my brilliant ancestors. May it draw down [the spirits of] those exemplary men of old, who now render

service at the court of Ti and carry forth the magnificent mandate of august Ti. . . . 33

But other inscriptions tell a different story, a story of mounting military impotence and the abandonment of the king by T'ien. In the Yü ting inscription, the general Yü

laments:

Alas! T'ien has sent great disasters down upon the lower countries. Yü­fang, Marquis of 0, has led the southern tribes of the Huai and the Yi tribes of the east in a great attack on

the southern and eastern lands, reaching to Li­han. Whereupon the king has ordered. . . . "Fiercely attack Yü­fang, Marquis of 0, sparing neither young nor old."34

The general has seen here what the king may not yet have seen, that T'ien and the king were now fighting on opposite sides of the battle.

The new distance between T'ien and king is portrayed in the text of the Mao Kung ting, a vessel which may be dated to the reign of King Hsuan (r. 827­782

B.C.).35 The king first recites how T'ien bestowed the mandate to rule upon Kings Wen and Wu, then he continues:

And so august T'ien unstintingly stood by us, watching over and protecting the Chou. There was no danger that the former kings would prove unworthy of the mandate. [But

now] pitiless T'ien rises awesome, and if I, a small child succeeding [to the throne] am inadequate, how shall the state be blessed? The four quarters are in chaos, all following in

unrest.36

Here again, the king stands in opposition to T'ien, and it is interesting to see that he faces an unjust fate. It is not because the king is weak that T'ien has wreaked

havoc, but because T'ien is pitiless that the king fears his own inadequacy 37 From the royal perspective, the issue is not kingly virtue, but the puzzling failure of T'ien's

benevolence.

Another inscription of the same period tells the story even more plainly. The king speaks again of the past beneficence of T'ien, but then addresses his minister Shih

P'ou with these words:

Alas, Shih P'ou! Now T'ien rises awesome and sends down disaster. Foremost virtue cannot overcome and control it, hence none can receive [the throne of absolute power] from

the former kings.38

Within a few decades, T'ien had completed its subversion of the royal house. The king had fled the capital, and he and his successors would be no more than

figureheads thereafter. Soon after we find evidence that the king's

Page 26

monopoly on T'ien has ended as well. Within a century of the Chou flight to the East, we find the Duke of Ch'in proclaiming:

Magnificent, my august ancestors received T'ien's mandate, receiving the reward of the Yü lands. The twelve [former] dukes now reside with Ti and look down; reverent in caring

for T'ien's mandate, they protect their Ch'in and dispatch (?) the southern and central peoples. 39

In another inscription, the ruler of the small state of Hsu, styling himself "king," dedicates a vessel for sacrifices to "august T'ien and my exemplary father; long may they

guard my person."40

2.2.

The Injustice of T'ien

When the Chou founders made their claim that the conquest of the Shang was by the grace of T'ien, the power of their assertion rested on the established authority of

T'ien as a religious figure. We do not have clear evidence of the preconquest role of T'ien, or of the early meanings of the term "t'ien."41 There is evidence, however

that during the Western Chou, the notion of T'ien as the benevolent god of state may have existed side by side with popular agricultural traditions, most likely very old,

which cast T'ien as the unpredictable ruler of the sky, whose whims were as likely to be malevolent as otherwise (Eno 1984:91­94).

The firm rule of the Chou kings had demonstrated T'ien's political benevolence during the early years. Now that the kings had lost the power to restrain social chaos,

T'ien's political behavior became as changeable as the weather. Instead of ruling with ethical perfection, T'ien now allowed injustice and suffering in human affairs, just

as it had in natural affairs before. The king's god was coming more and more to resemble the popular sky god, blind to good and evil, a danger to man even as man

depended upon it.

In the "Hsiao ya" section of the Poetry, there is a remarkable group of poems datable to soon after the fall of the western capital, which gives eloquent testimony to

the change in T'ien:

Bright T'ien so vast prolongs not its grace,

Hurls misery and famine, beheading the states.

Bright T'ien rises awesome, unthinking, unplanning,

Lets the guilty go free; they have paid for their crimes—

And the guiltless must join them, all drowning as one (194/1).

The poem continues, lamenting the fall of the capital, and it is clear that the sky god, who is causing famine here, is the same god who abandoned the

Page 27

king to his fate. The theme of these passages is the confusion of good and evil, and it is no accident that the poem's title is "Rain Without Justice."

Another poem with a similar theme begins by describing an ill­omened eclipse, a portent of the instability of nature. After describing the political situation, the poet

says:

The four quarters are sated, I alone am in anguish;

All loose themselves from care, I alone dare not rest;

T'ien's commands are all awry, I dare not obey (193/8). 42

This poem is usually dated to the reign of King Yu, just prior to the fall of the capital (Wang 1968:407). Once again, the poet stands in opposition to T'ien, surrounded

by evildoers whose conduct T'ien seems to condone, both by failing to punish them and by its own irregular course.

The fall of the Western Chou left T'ien morally bankrupt, and the language used to vilify the supreme deity is startling by Western standards:

Now the people are in peril, they look to T'ien all darkened;

Were there one who could bring peace, [T'ien] would overcome him.

August god above, who is it you hate? (192/4).

In these poems, a clear distinction is drawn between human evil, which is caused by man, and the chaos that engulfs the innocent, caused by T'ien.43 Guilt is assigned

to man in the former case, but to T'ien in the latter.

As long as T'ien remained linked to a strong human king, it was a just and discerning deity. Once the world of man degenerated into injustice and blind suffering, the

king's god disappeared into the tradition of the sky god, terrific, unjust, and blind. As social values collapsed, so did the value of T'ien.

2.3.

Creating a New T'ien

The fall of T'ien raised an issue capable of stimulating a transformation of religious thought to philosophy. Simply put, it was the problem of theodicy: how can a deity

prescriptively good allow a world descriptively evil?

T'ien had served as a mooring for value. During the early Chou, service to the king, the king's law and customs, and the might of the king's armies had all been tied to

T'ien. But it was the success of these institutions that had, in fact, anchored T'ien. Now the moorings were cut, and T'ien itself was adrift; only by discovering other

values to fasten to it could T'ien again be anchored. The task was to find the "real" values, ones that restored to T'ien its prescriptive perfection. Finding a new point of

view from which

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even a chaotic world made moral sense was necessary. Whatever that logos was would become the new T'ien.

Nonphilosophical thought was not able to do this. It could, as the boastful Duke of Ch'in, simply claim that orderly rule, and T'ien, had been restored in the rule of a

new leader, ignoring the contradictory facts of a chaotic world. Or, it could simply make do with T'ien as it appeared to be, descriptively amoral. Such a deity would

be much like "fate": incomprehensible, commanding awe but not reverence. Nonphilosophical thought in the late Chou often chose such an option (Ikeda 1968:25­

29).44

But early philosophical thought was tied to the attempt to restore T'ien's credibility by redefining values that could in some real way be upheld in the face of social

disorder. We will see that for Ruists, this world of value was defined as ritual and the transformation of man into a perfect ritual being. It will not surprise us, then, to

find Confucius reassure his companions of his safety by declaring, "If T'ien had wanted this pattern (wen) to die, [I] would not have been able to participate in it; what

can [my enemies] do to me?" (A:9.5), where the "pattern" referred to is the network of Chou ritual norms. In Ruism, the first response of philosophy to the mid­Chou

crisis in values, ritual li succeeded to the place vacated by the practical pillars of Chou value: the kingship and hereditary roles. And, in turn, T'ien was restored to its

place as the ultimate ground of value, recast as the mandator of ritual.

Summary

In this chapter, we have prepared some of the groundwork necessary to demonstrate the claim that early Ruism revolved around a ritual focus, and that the role of

T'ien can only be understood as a function of that ritual orientation. Our argument to this point has addressed the basic implausibilty, for the modern West, of

conceiving a philosophy grounded on the ascription of cardinal value to a body of traditional ritual, by exploring the historical background that made the Ruist choice of

philosophical focus logical. We have seen that, amidst the mid­Chou collapse of all stable value foundations, only the secondary elaboration of ritual codes survived as

an existing basis on which to build philosophy. Moreover, having seen that the emergence of ritual as an intellectual category was tied to the decay of the existing

notion of T'ien as a value standard, the reconstitution of T'ien as a legitimizing ground for ritual value seems more cogent.

But historical logic alone cannot rationalize a ritual basis for philosophy. We may still ask how a philosophy focused on ritual could be intellectually satisfying, and how

a school built upon so problematical a base, could endure.

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In the next chapter, our tasks will be to explore the intellectual dimensions of Ruist ritualism, and to describe the birth, structure, and social roles of the Ruist school.

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Chapter II Masters of the Dance

In our introduction we concluded that to elucidate the meaning of T'ien in Ruist texts we had to understand how T'ien "fit into" the central projects of early Ruism. Our

immediate task was thus shifted from analyzing the varied uses of the word "t'ien" in the texts, with an eye to finding some unified concept or a set of concepts to

which the word referred, to an exploration of the practical projects of Ruism. It is in light of these that the inconsistent uses of the word "t'ien'' should make sense.

Ruist discussions of T'ien were interested discussions; they were not reflections of "pure" inquiry, but part of an attempt to legitimize and elaborate in doctrine the

activities and interests that were typical of early Ruists and that set them apart as a distinct element of society. Unity and diversity in the Ruist meanings of T'ien must

derive from the evolving course of these activities and interests and not from a persistence or succession of inflexible "concepts."

Underlying all this is an implicit theory of what Ruism was, in a formal sense. Early Ruism was not so much an ideology as a way of life. It was a style of personal

behavior cultivated through a long process of education. Ruists acquired a distinct repertoire of skills; their behavior and their thinking differed from that of their non­

Ruist contemporaries as a consequence.

This chapter is our attempt to get at the core of early Ruism—to locate those interests and issues so central to the lives of early Ruists that virtually no part of their

theories can be understood completely without reference to them. As we employ our instrumental method, we will be looking for the noninstrumental core of Ruism:

the things which were, for Ruists, of ultimate value, ends in themselves.

In this chapter, we will draw substantially upon historical sources to compose a portrait of Ruism in terms of what early Ruists actually did, as opposed to what they

thought or said. This will not be a disinterested narrative. It has a point to prove and an interpretive framework that organizes the historical materials. The central issue

involves the reformulation of a structural model basic to understanding early Ruism.

The doctrine of early Ruism is fundamentally bifurcated. Ruists spoke at great length about the need for self­cultivation and moral training, and they spoke at just as

great a length about the need for political reform and governmental training (Schwartz 1964:5). These two aspects were theoreti­

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cally linked, the linkage being most elegantly expressed in the Ta­hsueh (Great Learning), which teaches that the rectification of the mind through careful study is the

first in a series of steps culminating in sagely government. Ruists held that self­cultivation and political activism were equally important, but that sequentially, self­

cultivation was prior. Accounts of Ruism in the West have generally either accepted the Ruist claim that the two aspects were closely linked, or have leaned toward

the view that despite its sequential position, political activism was ethically primary, and that early Ruism was fundamentally an activist political movement, whose

ideology included an ethics of self­cultivation.

Our portrait of Ruism will differ. It interprets the instrumental functions of the two aspects of Ruist doctrine as having operated in different ways, and views the two

doctrinal moieties not as linked but as radically disjoined. Our portrait will suggest that while rhetoric describing the perfection of the self served to commit Ruists to an

ever deepening dedication to mastery of an educational syllabus, idealistic political rhetoric served to discourage Ruists from practical political ambitions, and

legitimized a withdrawal from the world of political intrigue. In other words, although the two aspects of doctrine stressed distinct imperatives, one to study and one to

change the world, they were reducible to a single message: study and keep on studying.

In our portrait, we will reject the notion that Ruists were political activists whose lives were devoted to seeking governmental responsibilities. We will, instead, picture

the Ruist community as an archipelago of lifelong study groups, a brotherhood whose social insularity was tempered only by desires for social legitimacy and prestige,

and by the need to maintain economic sustenance.

At the core of early Ruism we will find devotion to study and to the formation and perpetuation of study groups, which were the basic units of the early Ruist

community. These groups were composed of disciples pledged to a prolonged course of personal improvement under the direction of a Ruist Master. The training that

they received focused on mastering a broad set of traditional ritual formulas, known as li. 1 The varied syllabus of the Ruist school revolved around the theory and

practice of li, and the end goal of self­cultivation was the complete ritualization of personal conduct.

This call for complete self­stylization was the aspect of early Ruist thought and practice that most clearly distinguished Ruism from other philosophical schools. Ruists

advocated a totally choreographed lifestyle, where the formalities of ritual guided action from one's first step outdoors in the morning to the time one lay down at

night.2 The totality of the imperative cannot be underestimated. In the Analects, Confucius urges his disciple Yen Yuan not to see, hear, say, or do anything which is

not li (A: 12.1). For the Mencius:

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"Every motion, every stance precise in li as one goes round: this is the acme of full virtue" (M:7B.33). And for the Hsun Tzu, even the flow of thought and the pulse of

the blood must be governed by li (H:2.7­8). The goal of the Ruist was to strive toward this ideal and become a master of this enduring ritual dance.

In chapter I we explored the background that makes the Ruist ritual focus logical in the context of Chou intellectual history. Nevertheless, the dogmatic exaltation of li

that is characteristic of Ruist texts of all periods tends to strike us in the West as arbitrary and unsophisticated. Li consisted of a set of particular codes that were

culturally specific: the very antithesis of the universal propositions that we expect a philosophy to formulate and test. Some early Chinese texts themselves recognize

that li, which were subject to change, were conventional, rather than universal norms. 3 Moreover, li must appear to non­Chinese as an arbitrary circumscription of

human potential, stifling individualistic and innovative expression. The Ruist obsession with particularistic li appears to disqualify Ruism as a viable panhuman

philosophy. Even if we interpret li in a broad sense as any set of culturally specific codes, the Ruist program is still alien to our modern stress on ethical individualism

and the Kantian notion of the individual as the creator of universal law (see Lukes 1973:55, 99­105).

Our understanding of the philosophical significance of the Ruist commitment to li has been greatly enhanced by the innovative interpretations that Herbert Fingarette

has presented in his Confucius—the Secular as Sacred (1972). Drawing on Fingarette's insights, we can begin to understand how li could have appeared so

attractive and rewarding to Ruists and how commitment to a particular form of behavior may be compatible with philosophical ideas of broad value. Many of the ideas

presented here were given focus by Fingarette's study. References to his work do not appear frequently on the pages that follow primarily because the overall outline

of the argument here was developed independently and deals with some issues in a different way.

Our historical outline is divided into three sections: a brief discussion of the intellectual dimensions of ritual practice in early Chinese society and their role in the

founding of Ruism, an analysis of the instrumentality of political idealism in preserving the ritual­centered and apolitical nature of Ruism, and a survey of the structure

and social role of the Ruist community from the death of Confucius to the end of the Chou.

1.

The Ritual Basis of Ruism

The Han historian Ssu­ma Ch'ien tells us that when Liu Pang, soon to become first emperor of the Han, was pursuing his war against his rival

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Hsiang Yü, "He raised his troops, and encircled [the capital of the old state of] Lu. From within came the ceaseless sounds of strings and songs, for in that place the

Ru still recited and chanted, practicing ceremony and music" (SC: 121.3117).

Here is a glimpse of early Ruism that shows us features not often stressed in Western accounts. If there were such a thing as a pure behaviorist historian, he might

describe pre­Ch'in Ruism not as a philosophy, but as a social phenomenon primarily involving the joining together of men in groups to chant ancient texts, sing ancient

songs, and play ancient music. If he could take us in a time machine to view a single scene typifying what Ruism was, he might show us a group of eccentrically

costumed disciples assembled at their Master's house, carefully stepping through an intricately scripted and choreographed ritual under the eye of their teacher: a band

of men mastering an endless variety of ancient dances.

But there are other, more intellectual aspects of Ruism, aspects far more celebrated, some of which seem far removed from this scene of ritual dance. There is

Confucius instructing the lords of Lu in the art of government. There is Mencius arguing the innate goodness of human nature, and trying to prove it by transforming

corrupt warlords into universal Sages. There is Hsun Tzu devising intricate theories of social dynamics and the process of knowing.

In the account that follows, we will try to suggest how the variety of Ruist activity and doctrine grew from and remained rooted in the single paradigmatic image we

have sketched here. Our thesis is that the central commitment of Ruists throughout the Warring States period was to the practice of li and to the notion that mastery of

li was the path to Sagehood. The fervent political idealism and the wonderful variety of philosophical theories developed by the many Ruists of the Warring States

should, in our view, generally be considered as the intellectual manifestations of the central Ruist concern: to legitimize and perpetuate their chosen lifestyle as students

and Masters of li.

Our first task is to explain how ritual could provide intellectual rewards on a scale adequate to place them at the heart of philosophy. I would like to begin by sketching

a highly schematic picture of some general features of ritual, and then use this schema to suggest some basic changes that may have occurred in the ideological

rationale for ritual behavior during the Chou, as a result of the collapse of the kingship and the discrediting of T'ien that we discussed in chapter I. These changes, if the

model is valid, help to explain the way in which Ruists of the late Chou regarded ritual, and make somewhat clearer how their interpretation of li represents a

significant transformation of the traditional approach to ritual, a transformation that made the category of li a rich one for intellectual exploration.

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1.1.

Rationales for Ritual

Our simple model begins by dividing ritual into three main categories: its religious, social and aesthetic dimensions. 4 The religious aspect of ritual is most apparent in

activities such as sacrificial worship. It is based on the premise that there can be an entailment between symbolic action and supernatural or natural consequences.

Thus, ritual can be used to manipulate the gods or Nature.5

The use of religious ritual generally has deep ethical significance, whether we speak of holy rite or black magic. This sort of ritual is sacred, except perhaps at the

simplest levels of superstition (e.g., knocking on wood). During the Western Chou, religious rituals were ethically legitimate if they were practiced within the sanctioned

structures of state or clan religion. These areas of ritual practice contributed to the body of lore called li. Religious li was thus ethically legitimized by belief in its natural

efficacy and by the sanctioned morality of state and clan religions.

The social aspect of ritual refers to the power of ritual to delineate meanings in hierarchical society. For example, what it means to be politically subordinate is directly

expressed in the ritual injunction: "When one's lord orders one to receive guests, one's countenance suddenly changes, one's legs seem to give way" (A:10.2). This sort

of playacting is not trivial. It is a powerful aspect of ritual, and, when it is understood by all the actors involved, it can make ritual a field of remarkably subtle

communication.6

Although ritual severely constrains one's responses in some situations, ritual communication may allow complex discretionary action. In early China, it was customary

at banquets for guests to express their sentiments by selecting stanzas from a corpus of classical poetry to sing to one another. This ritual could become quite intimate

and stirring, as the sanctity of the texts give great weight to the chanting of even ordinary people. The interplay of aesthetic skill, shared erudition, and sincere

expression could produce a moving encounter.7

But the subtlety of ritual communication goes further. The intricacy with which ritual action can be scripted and choreographed is limitless. Anyone who has read the

Yi­li (Ceremonies of Ritual) will recognize that formal ritual encounters have a tendency to elaborate ritualized movements to the point where all non­ritual action is

necessarily banished—there is simply no room.8 Like a choreographed ballet which does not have gaps where the dancers revert to the ordinary movements of

everyday action, a ritual encounter lifts the actors into a distinct medium of interaction, a medium of entailed symbolism.9

Within such an intricately determined network, small actions that initi­

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ate complex patterns of response may accomplish far­reaching consequences. A story in the Analects illustrates this (A:17.1). We are told that the usurper Yang Huo

wished to employ Confucius, but Confucius refused to meet with him to discuss it. To meet thus without compulsion would have implicitly acknowledged Yang Huo's

right to request service of Confucius, that is, his legitimacy as a sovereign. Yang Huo solved the problem of inducing Confucius to visit him by sending Confucius a pig.

According to li, when a man of Yang Huo's legitimate rank sent such a gift to a man of Confucius' rank, the latter was obliged to pay a courtesy call on the former.

Confucius had no choice but to visit Yang Huo, and though he carefully timed his visit in order that Yang Huo was away from home, to Confucius' dismay he

encountered him on the road. Thus Yang Huo was able to solve a problem of political pragmatism by a brief adventure into the world of li. 10

This simple power of ritual action would theoretically be magnified according to the breadth and intricacy of the field of ritual action and the skill of the actor. The

Analects recounts the ultimate ideal: "The Master said, '"He did nothing and all was ruled": would this not characterize the Emperor Shun? What did he do? He merely

set himself with reverence and faced due South; that was all' " (A:15.5).11

This aspect of ritual behavior is also generally linked to ethical values. Social ritual is not inherently ethical—games are examples of social ritual—but because social

ritual is so central to articulating and confirming roles in a hierarchical society, it becomes entailed with the ethical nature of that society. If it is a society sanctioned by

tradition and myth, its social rituals are equally sanctioned.

In Western Chou society, powerful central rule created a consensus valuation of Chou social institutions, which were founded on the premise of hereditary assumption

of social roles and the pyramidal structure of Chou feudal authority. Perhaps the single largest category of li was comprised of the social rituals that articulated and

confirmed the ordered hierarchical society of the Chou.

The third aspect of ritual behavior is its aesthetic dimension, which is not so much distinct from the religious and social dimensions as characteristic of both. Ritual

activity is scripted and choreographed; it is prescribed by formulas. These are generally rationalized on religious or ethical grounds, but in practice they tend to respond

to aesthetic criteria as well. While ritual is not necessarily aesthetic, as it was elaborated in Chinese society it tended to be so.

The clearest indications of this are the frequent links we find between ritual and manifestly artistic activities, such as music, song, and dance. Prayers for rain took the

form of rain dances in both the Shang and Chou,12 and Shima Kunio has identified numerous oracle graphs that may denote a

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range of other types of ritual dance (1958:206­7, 289­93). 13

Major state rituals were marked by complex artistic displays. The Li­chi, a late text, describes a royal sacrifice as a grand ballet: "As the altar is mounted, 'The Bright

Temple' is sung. Descending, the pipes play and the Hsiang Dance is performed. Then the cinnebar shields and jade spears are brought out for the Great War Dance.

Next, eight ranks of dancers perform the Great Hsia Dance" (Chi­t'ung: 14.23b). The Yi­li documents the elaborate costume, heightened speech, and frequent use of

music and song that pervaded all forms of ritual activity.

There is, in ritual, a significant overlap between the ethical and aesthetic. In ritual activity, what is "right" to do is often what is in "good form." A spontaneous intrusion

into a ritual procedure, for instance a complacent belch at a society dinner, can offend equally for its display of disrespect for social rule and for its ugliness.14 This

overlap is reflected in Chinese in the cognate relationship between the words ''yi": "right," and "yia": "form; manner; standard."15

Aesthetics acts to reinforce the ethical meanings of religious and social ritual. It permeates the aura of sanctity of religious activity, and, as the example of ritual poetry

chanting indicates, it adds to the affective power of social ritual. The very nature of group ritual activity as a smooth interaction of cognate roles expresses an aesthetic

ideal.

However, the aesthetic aspect of ritual does not, in itself, ethically legitimize ritual, although it may be ritual's most attractive aspect. Without the ethical sanctions that

legitimize religious and social rituals, the beauty of ritual action would possess no moral meanings beyond any accorded to spontaneous artistic expression. Keeping

this point in mind may help us better understand the role of li in early Ruism. Ruist texts abound in ethical rationalizations of li—we will explore some of them further

on. But to accept that Ruists loved ritual as they seem to have, one must believe that their sensitivity to it was largely aesthetic. The intellectual labors that Ruists

performed to legitimize li may have been efforts to sustain an intuition of the goodness of li that was fundamentally aesthetic.

1.2.

The Decline of Ritual

In chapter I we saw how the decline of royal power at the end of the Western Chou led to major dislocations in social order and ideology. The Chou king had stood

not only at the apex of a political system, but of a religious system as well. His decline led to the appearance of religious scepticism and political chaos. Our simple

model of the functions of ritual might lead us to expect that the decline of royal power and social order would undermine the ethical legitimacy of religious and social

ritual; there is ample evidence that it did.

At once a symptom and a cause of this was the usurpation of ritual forms by those not entitled to them. We have already noted in chapter I instances

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where feudal lords presumed to pray to and claim the support of T'ien, the king's god. The third book of the Analects is peppered with other examples (A:3.1, 3.2,

3.6, 3.22). Further symptoms of the decline of ritual during the Eastern Chou include the discarding of the finer points of ritual performance 16 and the appearance of

critical and even hostile attitudes toward li.17

Our simple hypothesis, then, is that dislocations in the religious and socio­political systems undermined the ethical legitimacy of ritual. While faith in the natural efficacy

of symbolic action certainly persisted in forms of shamanism and superstition, that aspect of religious ritual which had possessed the greatest stability and social

sanction, state religious practice, had been discredited.

As for the legitimacy of social ritual, during the prolonged social chaos of the Eastern Chou, the traditional determinant of social hierarchy—hereditary privilege—was

deeply undermined (Hsu 1965:26­31). In its place, less formalized criteria, such as military prowess, wealth, talent, and ruthlessness came to shape the social network.

Warlord rulers and swashbuckling knights found an ethics that stressed bravery and personal loyalty more congenial than the morality of ritual norms.18 As the

moorings of religious and social value slipped away, ad hoc values proliferated without any systematic ethical base.

Confucius and Ruism were born in this milieu, and Confucius himself embraced the plurality of simple values that had become so prized in the period of chaos. The

Analects celebrates a variety of homely virtues: righteousness (yi), courage (yung), trustworthiness (hsin), devotion (chung), and many more. But Confucius

celebrated these in the context of his attempt to describe a unified vision of enduring value, and that value was anchored in complete dedication to the obsolescent

rituals of a bygone era: li.

1.3.

Confucius' Career19

Confucius was born in the small state of Lu about 550 B.C.20 His background and early career are variously but not reliably reported in our historical sources.21

What seems clear, however, is that Confucius was not a member of the hereditary nobility of Lu,22 that he possessed a basic training in traditional ritual behavior,23

and that he aspired to political office in Lu. Although the Analects does not mention Confucius holding any specific official post,24 other sources claim for him exalted

political titles.25

About the year 498 B.C., Confucius left Lu, possibly forced to leave on account of actions he took as a political official.26 He subsequently traveled among the feudal

states of eastern China, perhaps seeking employment in government, possibly looking for a nonadministrative position as an honored senior advisor at a feudal court.27

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Late in life, Confucius returned to Lu at the invitation, it is said, of the leading warlord of Lu, one of whose retainers was a disciple of Confucius who had recently

contributed to a great military victory. 28 Confucius spent his last years in Lu, quietly teaching his sizable entourage of disciples. He died about 479 B.C.29

At some time during his life, Confucius began to attract around him a group of men who regarded him as their teacher.30 Among these men were several who

achieved considerable political prominence, most notably Chi Yu, styled Tzu­lu, and Jan Ch'iu, both of whom became stewards for the Chi clan, the single greatest

power group in Lu.31

The many accounts of Confucius' political activities and the political prominence of some of his disciples makes it clear that the movement that grew out of Confucius'

teachings had its roots in political activism. There seems no doubt that, at one time, Confucius thought that he just might be able to change the world if only he could

attain enough political leverage.

That did not come to pass, however, and although Confucius' political activism influenced all later Ruists, an even greater influence was exerted by his ultimate failure.

For what distinguished Confucius from other men with praiseworthy political impulses was the fact that his political goals were linked to a systematic value standpoint

rooted in his special reverence for ritual action. In his own career, he demonstrated repeatedly that his ethical idealism could in no way be compromised in the name of

political expediency, and his political failure may have largely been due to this rigid stance. Generations of later Ru would follow his example and content themselves

with political obscurity in order to carry on Confucius' absolute commitment to the ethics of ritual action.

1.4.

Legitimizing Li

Philosophy was born in China amidst a pervasive atmosphere of social and intellectual crisis, and these conditions determined its agenda.32 Philosophers shared a

common goal of articulating a stable structure of value that would prescribe and legitimize social action as Western Chou religious and political ideologies once had.

The Mohists built such a structure upon a strict utilitarian ethic, which upheld a moral imperative to engage in any type of political activity that might relieve suffering to

any degree. Taoists like Chuang Tzu embraced a systematic ethical relativism, objectifying their ideas as a transcendent principle of existence that challenged the value

of any political action whatever.

Confucius came before these thinkers, and his approach was to embrace the ritual system of li as a stable value foundation. In doing so, Confucius followed a different

path from most subsequent thinkers because he adopted as fundamental a particular and relative form of behavior, rather than a

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universal ethical principle. Li was not a body of principles: it was a collection of specific codes associated with the institutions of a specific dynasty. 33

What led Confucius to feel that li was a viable basis for an ethical teaching preached seriously in times of trouble? The answer lies, in part, in the aesthetic values of

ritual that we discussed earlier. The Confucius of the Analects is a man predisposed to value li for its beauty. The Analects tells us that he was so moved by a

performance of ritual music that for three months he was not conscious of the taste of food (A:7.14), and other passages confirm his deep feeling for ritual dance and

song (A:3.23, 3.25, 7.32,8.15, 11.24). Commitment to li was inextricably linked to immersion in its aesthetic forms: "The Master said, 'Rise up with the songs, stand

with li, and be fulfilled in music"' (A:8.8).34

Aesthetics was not ethically trivial for Confucius. The early Chou term "wen" had linked patterns drawn from ritual artistry to personal virtues and social norms (see

chapter I). In Ruism, this commitment to patterned action deepened and the aesthetic qualities of "wen," a term which in Ruist texts is generally best rendered as

"style," were a central quality of Ruism's potraits of the ideal person. "Wen," or "style,'' denoted among other things the aesthetic skills that equipped an individual to

apply the narrow codes of ritual, skills that were cultivated by studying written texts, music, dance, and the martial arts. In the Analects, this aesthetic aspect of ritual is

sometimes contrasted with explicit prescriptive rules—"li" in the narrow sense—as in the thrice repeated formula that a person should be "broadened with style,

constrained by li" (A:6.27, 9.11, 12.15).35

This formula reminds us that the aesthetics of ritual, although deeply attractive, cannot legitimize ritual as an ethical category. In the Ruist case, because the religious

and social legitimations of li had eroded with the decline of the Chou rule and social order, it was not enough for Confucius and his followers to celebrate the beauty of

ritual forms. It was necessary for them to reformulate the ethical bases of ritual to justify their claim that li could serve as a cardinal principle of value. Although we

obviously cannot trace their thinking, we can give a brief schematic summary of how early Ruists solved this problem in terms of our simple model of the dimensions of

ritual.

In attacking this problem, Confucius and his followers developed a series of innovative ideas. The first of these was so basic that it sometimes escapes the attention of

interpreters. This is the fundamental Ruist tenet that li is, in itself, a category of intellectual and ethical significance. As we noted earlier, prior to Ruist thought, we have

little evidence to indicate that li was understood as a general category, a common property shared by the many individual rites and rules. Confucius was, if not the first,

then among the first to pay attention to li as a universal category to which particular li belonged.

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This understanding of li in an abstract sense allowed the Ruists to value the formal aspects of li. Whereas the basis of much of the Western Chou interest in li had been

tied to confidence in the supernatural efficacy of individual religious rites, Ruism did not require that any rite prove its value through magical utility; it could possess

value as an instance representing a larger ethical category 36 The proper practice of li was inherently good.

The second innovation that Confucius and his followers used to legitimize li was to invert the ethical basis of social li. Originally, the stable social order of the Western

Chou provided a consensus value base legitimizing social ritual. This base had disintegrated leaving the significance of li in question. Confucius' solution was to treat li

not as a property of social order, but as the genesis of social order. The value of Chou li was not diminished by the decline of the Chou social order, just the opposite:

Chou li was if anything more valuable now, for the perished social order existed latent in the li. In a sense, Confucius reinterpreted the basis of Chou institutions: their

essence no longer lay in hereditary privilege, it lay in the behavioral norms that characterized them.37 These were the seeds of revived social order, and Confucius'

mastery of them was the basis of his political mission: "King Wen is dead, but his style lives on here [in me], does it not? If T'ien wished this style to perish, [I] would

not have been able to partake of it" (A:9.5).

The claim that social order existed latently in ritual was defended with reference to the extraordinary ethical leverage that social ritual could provide. Although Chou

ritual was lying dormant, it remained an interconnected network whose outlines were well known. The initiation of a single properly performed act of li might be

sufficient to engage others in a steadily broadening circle of ritual action—just as Yang Huo engaged Confucius in the instance discussed earlier. One person, one

continuing source of li, could ritualize the world: "Conquer yourself and return to li for one day, and the world will respond to you with jen [humanity]" (A:12.1).38 If

that person were in a position of political power, the process would be swift and simple indeed:

Can li and deference be used to rule a state? Why, there is nothing to it! (A:4.13).

When a ruler loves li, the people are easy to rule (A: 14.41).

If the lord directs his ministers with li, the ministers will serve their lord with devotion (A:3.19).

By arguments such as these, Confucius and his followers promised to replace, through ritual, the stable social order that had been supported by the institutional pillars

of kingship and heredity.

The religious pillar, to the degree that it rested on the notion that religious ritual possessed magical efficacy, Confucius did not attempt to restore,

Page 41

although, as we will see, Ruists employed T'ien to sanction their ritual claims. Instead, the third innovative idea of early Ruism was to erect an entirely new basis for li,

a fourth dimension of ritual apart from its religious, social, and aesthetic aspects. This was an educational dimension, which legitimized ritual forms on the basis of their

spiritual effect upon the ritual actor himself. Confucius and later Ruists claimed that the practice of li and its related aesthetic forms was inherently edifying, and could

transform individuals into ethical and wise beings. This was an evolving claim in early Ruism, which grew from an implicit theme in the Analects, where devotion to li

and personal virtue are loosely but consistently linked, to an explicit and central doctrine in the Hsun Tzu. In its most positive form, this idea was expressed as the

claim that mastery of ritual and ritual style transformed a person into a perfect being: a Sage. And even where the claim is expressed in softer terms, the practical

obsession with ritual, which we will see was characteristic of all early Ruism, suggests that the notion of li as the path to Sagehood was a powerful motivating force

behind the dedication that Masters and disciples showed to their ritual vocation.

Thus, in establishing li as a cardinal value, early Ruism reformulated the bases upon which li was legitimized. No longer was ritual sanctioned by its magical efficacy or

its place in an established social order. Now, aesthetically celebrated and understood as a universal category of action, li was legitimized by its power to generate

order in society and Sagehood in individuals.

This new dual legitimation of li was fundamental to the structure of Ruism throughout the Warring States period and for thousands of years after. The social rationale

yielded a political imperative: to transform society into a field of ritual action. 39 The educational rationale compelled the student to devote his days to transforming

himself into a perfect ritual actor. Theoretically, these two imperatives were not in conflict, and Ruist doctrine embraced both. But practically speaking, the political

imperative was beyond the powers of the Ru; doomed to failure, it was not a rewarding path to follow. The path of self­cultivation in ritual study, on the other hand,

offered many sorts of rewards, both spiritual and, as we will see, material as well.

Even during Confucius' lifetime, the political claim seems to have increasingly become a rhetorical device, whose primary function was to legitimize the Ruists' pursuit of

their personal educational goals. While it was always a centerpiece of Ruist doctrine, the political claim did not become a guiding imperative of Ruist practice until after

the Warring States period had come to a close and political realities had changed. In the following sections, I hope to demonstrate that this was so, as we evaluate the

frequently held hypothesis that early Ruism was fundamentally a political movement.

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2.

The Political Role of Ruism

As we saw in the last section, Ruist doctrine was born in a context of political action. Confucius himself may have held important political posts, and several of his

disciples were politically prominent. Furthermore, Confucius' advocacy of li, central to all aspects of his teachings, was supported by a claim that government by li

was the key to social order. For disciples, this entailed an imperative to engineer the implementation of li in the world, an imperative that was clearly political.

Interpreters of Ruism have drawn two conclusions from all this. The first is that Ruism was fundamentally a political ideology. H. G. Creel has identified the two

enduring principles of Ruism as "the insistence that those who govern should be chosen not for their birth but for their virtue and ability, and that the true end of

government is the welfare and happiness of the people (1949:4). 40 These were certainly important and impressive political doctrines, frequently—although not

always—proclaimed by Ruists. But we will argue here that the central core of early Ruism lay in an entirely different direction. The second conclusion is that Ruists

were political activists who sought and frequently occupied positions in government from which they could implement their various social policies. Frederick Mote has

adopted this interpretation:

It became known that [Confucius'] students were a cut above the ordinary job seekers, and that made them eminently employable. . . . [M]any of his students advanced rapidly in

government. Within a few generations the students of his widely proliferated school commanded the market—they had the talent, they got the positions (1971:41).

In the last section we noted that Confucius' dual legitimation of li resulted in a certain bifurcation in his philosophy, which stressed imperatives both to perfect oneself

and to transform society. In the course of this section, we will suggest how this bifurcation acted to render Ruism essentially apolitical despite its political rhetoric. This

hypothesis will be supported first by a survey of historical records, which indicate that during the Warring States period Ruists did not, in fact, actually hold positions of

political responsibility, and second by a reexamination of the attitudes expressed by the Ruist texts themselves. We will see that these consistently maintain a negative

attitude toward practical political involvement, even as they espouse doctrines of political idealism.

Our conclusion will be that political idealism acted to shield Ruists from the unpredictable results of practical political activism, and to legitimize the withdrawal of the

Ruist community into a cult focused on group education and the quest for personal Sagehood.

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2.1.

The Bifurcated Doctrine of Ruism

The portrait of early Ruism as a political ideology derives, I think, from a series of uncritical assumptions that have guided the interpretation of Ruist texts. The most

fundamental of these is the assumption that Ruism was first and foremost an ideology, or set of ideas.

To contemporaries, the Ru were most likely not so much distinguished by their ideas as by their obsession with li: their archaic dress and scrupulous bearing, their

precise speech, their tendency to gather and bring out their zithers, chant poetry, and practice ceremonial dance. (We will explore these activities in detail later.)

Although it may seem to be a fine distinction, our picture of early Ruism will vary enormously depending on whether we concentrate only on what early Ruists said or

also on what they did.

The conception of Ruism as a body of doctrine arises from our historical perspective. When the Ru proselytized, recruited new disciples, or defended their activities

against attack, they elaborated an ever­growing body of philosophical material, which formed topics for discussion within each group and between Ru and outsiders.

This material is virtually all that is left to us; we can view early Ruism through no medium other than its words. Furthermore, few of those words directly describe what

the Ru were actually doing; the texts are overwhelmingly concerned with articulating ideal doctrine. Thus, the nature of our source material has predisposed us to

regard early Ruism as a set of ideas. 41

Because our sources give us access to ideas but not to activities, there is a temptation to fill in the gap by implicitly translating the stated aims of the texts into social

action. Ruist texts repeatedly describe Ruist education as preparation for political activity; should we not conclude that Ruists were politically ambitious? Ruist doctrine

advocates a utopian social program; does it not follow that the Ru sought political posts in order to achieve their goals?

These inferences reflect a simplistic equation between rhetoric and action. It is sometimes the case that energetic verbal inquiry or posturing relieves pressures for

practical action about which the speaker may actually feel ambivalent. If we reexamine the role of political doctrine in early Ruism, we can see the plausibility of

applying such a principle in this case.

Early Ruism, as we have already seen, is fundamentally bifurcated. Its central ideology links two sets of doctrines which are not necessarily entailed. The first is a body

of self­cultivation theory. These statements prescribe methods—primarily involving self­ritualization—for becoming a superior person and ultimately a Sage, with a

Sage being defined as a man whose perfect moral intelligence is displayed in action.42 The second set of doctrines consists of statements concerning a wide variety of

political

Page 44

ideas. These include criticisms of contemporary society along with prescriptive political programs, governance by li being one of these.

Ruist texts link these two sets of doctrines in three primary ways. The first link is sequential: self­cultivation precedes political action. Good government was not just a

matter of running a feudal court according to ritual rules. Without the correct spirit, ritual action would not engage others in the broadening matrix of symbolic activity.

For ritual to fulfill its political potential, ritual actors had to understand the values that governed the application of li. They had to become ethical themselves: "The

Master said, 'How can a man who is not jen [humane] manage li? How can a man who is not jen manage music?' " (A:3.3). 43 For the master of ritual, government is

simple. But a man unskilled in the art of ritual will only blunder if he attempts to exploit the political power of li: "Can li and deference be used to rule a state? Why,

there is nothing to it. He who cannot use li and deference to rule a state, how can he manage li at all?" (A:4.13).44 For the Ruist, then, the study of ritual and a grasp

of the values that govern the application of li must precede ritual government. The Ruist disciple must begin by cultivating his virtue within the Ruist group: political

action must be deferred.

The second link is predictive. The man whose virtue has been cultivated through ritual education is supremely competent to oversee the restoration of political order,

either as a ruler, or as the administrator of enlightened policy.45 Thus in the Analects, Confucius claims that given a genuine opportunitity, he could reform a state in

three years or create a new Chou in the east (A:13.10, 17.4). Mencius claims that, given the chance, he could bring peace and order to the entire empire (M:2B.13).

The success of true Ruist government would be limitless and ensured.

The third link is proscriptive. Being moral, the Ruist Sage or chün­tzu will not participate in corrupt government, lest he set a bad example, needlessly expose himself

to danger, become himself corrupted, or legitimize corruption by his presence. Instead, he will bide his time, perfecting himself, until the proper opportunity for political

action presents itself. This is the doctrine of "timeliness" (shih): "When the Way prevails in the world, appear; when it does not, hide" (A:8.13).46

Our immediate concern here is with the first and third links between the two doctrinal moieties: that self­cultivation must precede political action, and that one must not

accept political responsibilities in a state not morally governed. Within the context of Warring States China, these two doctrines provided a practical implication

somewhat different from their explicit content. Because true opportunities for joining moral government were virtually nonexistent at the time, the functional message

which these doctrines conveyed to disciples was to enter and persist in Ruist training for ideal political opportunities, while avoiding involvement in actual govern­

Page 45

ment. Coincidentally, as long as this course of action was followed, the second assertion— predicting the limitless political success of Ruist Sages and Ruist policies—

could never be tested and disproven.

According to this analysis, rather than being a political movement whose essential message lay in political doctrine and whose followers were groomed to enter the

governments of the times, Ruism was in its early days a cult directed toward self­improvement in which political doctrines played a legitimizing role. The instrumental

function of these political doctrines was to rationalize and encourage abstinence from non­Ruist government in favor of participation in the activities of the Ruist

community. Political idealism both explained a Ruist withdrawal into cult studies, and justified it in the eyes of society. Rather than appearing eccentric and selfish,

Ruists could portray themselves in terms of the Warring States values of righteousness, courage, and honesty.

In the next section, we will test this analysis against the alternative interpretation of Ruism as a political movement by examining the historical record to determine, first,

whether explicit records are found documenting substantial numbers of Ru participating in government and, second, whether the use of Ruist rhetoric by political actors

of the Warring States period implicitly indicates the presence of Ru in government.

2.2. The Missing History of the Ru

The school of Confucius was founded in a political context, but after the death of Confucius, there is little evidence of Ruist participation in government. A change

seems to have come over the school of Ruism, and this change may have begun during Confucius' lifetime.

After leaving his home state of Lu, Confucius spent almost fifteen years traveling through the various feudal states of eastern China looking for a ruler who would

employ him in government. This is generally taken to demonstrate that Confucius' commitment to political activism remained undiminished. But we can look at it

another way. If we rely on the evidence of the Analects, at least part of the reason for Confucius' failure to find a political position was his unwillingness to be flexible

about the conditions under which he would seek office. It might not be that valuable political opportunities were not available to him, but that he kept his ethical

standards too high to seize them.

For example, the Analects suggests that Confucius had numerous opportunities to establish a political base in the state of Wei. He was called into audience with an

influential consort of the ruler, but he regarded her as immoral, and shunned any political relationship (A:6.28). The leading military figure in Wei proposed a political

alliance; Confucius snubbed him (A:3.13). The ruler himself granted him an audience, but Confucius formed

Page 46

a low opinion of him and left the state (A:15.1). Yet Confucius himself remarked later that although the ruler was without virtue, his government included men of talent

and honor—they, at least, could see their way clear to serving under him (A:14.19). Following the death of the ruler there ensued a bitter succession dispute, and

some of Confucius' disciples wondered whether this might not provide a political opportunity for their Master. Confucius, however, declined to become involved

(A:7.15).

The case of Wei is the clearest example, but there are other instances where Confucius seems to have been more concerned with maintaining his political purity than in

attempting to turn political opportunity to ethical advantage (e.g., A:14.36). In the Analects, we see him walk out on no less than three rulers (A:15.1, 18.3, 18.4).

One cannot help but wonder whether his travels were as much a quest for ethical opportunity as a way of proving that it could not be found.

As far as the disciples are concerned, several of them did hold political office, and it is reasonable to follow traditional interpretations that suggest that Confucius taught

these men because he wished to train a new breed of political actors. But the disciples who achieved political prominence were all among the most senior of

Confucius' students. The younger disciples, who knew Confucius only after his political career in Lu came to a close, appear to have moved in a different direction. 47

Although some of them, such as Tzu­hsia and Tzu­yu, are said to have taken positions as town magistrates in Lu during Confucius' lifetime, we find no evidence that

they rose in government—or even persisted in it.48 Other prominent members of the younger generation of disciples, such as Tzu­chang and Tseng Shen, apparently

never held political office. They, along with Tzu­hsia and Tzu­yu, made their reputations as teachers in the style of Confucius, taking on students of their own after their

Master's death.49

Thus, even in Confucius' lifetime, the character of formative Ruism may have been changing from political activism to a withdrawn cult of self improvement. After

Confucius' death, we find little evidence of any of his disciples finding employment in politics.50 And, as we look down the course of Ruist history during the Warring

States period, there is even less evidence to indicate that this tendency toward political withdrawal was reversed prior to the Ch'in conquest. On the contrary, a survey

of our best historical sources for the period, the Chan­kuo ts'e and the Shih­chi, along with the testimony of early Ruist texts such as the Mencius and Hsun Tzu,

indicates a near total absence of Ruists from the ranks of government.51 In fact, were it not for the two great Ru, Mencius and Hsun Tzu, whose biographies have

been preserved to some degree, the history of the Ruist community after Confucius would be nearly blank. Ruists simply left no mark on the political annals of the

period. Over the course of two and one half

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centuries, the record lists no more than a handful of Ru in positions of administrative responsibility, and the circumstances in even these few cases are often unclear. 52

The evidence to support the positive claim of Ruist political activism simply does not exist.53

How, then, did the impression arise that Ruists were a major, albeit ultimately unsuccessful political faction prior to the Ch'in? Partially, no doubt, because of the

uncritical assumptions that linked Ruist rhetoric to supposed actions. But another reason might exist. That is that interpreters have not adequately stressed the

distinction between serving feudal governments in an administrative capacity and accepting other types of court positions. For while we do not see Ruists occupying

administrative posts, we not infrequently see them serving as court tutors, as special emissaries, as ritual masters, or as occasional advisors, invited to impart their

teachings to rulers anxious to enhance their own reputations for wisdom. Duties such as these did not interfere with a Ruist's primary occupation as a Master of

disciples. Their administrative burdens were nil and, most important, this sort of activity did not implicate Ruists in the general immorality of contemporary government

because they were never in positions of political responsibility.

Still, one might wonder why, if Ruists were serious about following Confucius' injunction to "hide" in times of immoral rule, they were willing to be associated with

feudal courts at all. The answer is probably that feudal courts were centers of economic surplus, and for Ruist groups—as for Mohist and other groups—patronage by

members of a court was the surest path to economic sustenance. In addition to gaining a position as a teacher or ritualist, a well­known Ru might receive court

patronage simply for being a "wise man" and residing nearby.54

During the Warring States period, rulers commonly displayed their virtue by patronizing "worthies" of all descriptions. Wise men arriving at the capitals of such rulers

could be assured of being granted audiences and stipends as well.55 Ruists gravitated to such states, and the portrait of early Ruists as politically ambitious men has

certainly been enhanced by the fact that many Ru did maintain close ties with a court. Confucius' disciple Tzuhsia, for example, responded to the first recorded

instance of such patronage. When Marquis Wen of Weia put out a call for worthies, Tzu­hsia joined a number of his contemporaries in traveling to Weia, where he was

appointed court tutor (SC:67.2203).56 Some years later, the Marquis' descendant King Hui, battered by bad fortunes in war, revived the policy in order to attract

fresh political talent (SC:44.1847). Among those responding was Mencius, who, needless to say, was not the sort of man the King was casting for when he dangled

the bait of large stipends.

Mencius may have been among those most disposed to respond to opportunities of this sort. Aside from his tenure in Weia (Liang), his travels to

Page 48

Ch'i, T'eng, and perhaps Sung all may have initially been in response to or in expectation of such general patronage policies. 57

In the state of Ch'i, the policy became institutionalized in the form of a government sponsored academy, where wise men of every stripe received salaries and gathered

disciples without any political responsibilities whatever (Ch'ien 1956:321­34). Hsun Tzu taught at this academy, where he was revered as senior teacher

(SC:74.2348).

During this period, Ruists did not serve as officers of government, but as the personal retainers of whatever lord was willing to support them. The Han Fei Tzu gives a

credible portrait when it lumps Ruists together with knights­errant: both groups lived off the patronage of politically prominent leaders, but just as wandering knights of

martial skill were not appointed to lead regular armies, so Ruists skilled in ritual arts were not appointed to lead governments (Hsien­hsueh: 19.9b­10a).58

The advantages of this arrangement for political leaders were manifold. The ruler of a feudal state could justify the actions of his government by pointing to the panoply

of worthies who were attracted to his court. From these men, a ruler or his spokesmen could learn facile rhetorical formulas to rationalize their pragmatic acts.59

The proximity of Ru to Warring States courts resulted in a general diffusion of Ruist political ideas and rhetoric. Ruist rhetoric was particularly well­suited to political

manipulation. The Ru were, after all, revivalists. Many of their ideas could be seen as little more than a restatement of traditional values. Few non­Ru would challenge

the Ruist stress on righteousness, courage, and reverence. Even the most particular of Ruist values, li, was not controversial if taken in a weak sense as proper and

seemly action. Ruists were distinct only in taking these values seriously; most everybody paid them lip service.

Because Ruist rhetoric was so well­suited for political manipulation, it is not unusual to encounter in our historical sources Ruist­style speeches uttered by non­Ru

political actors.60 We should not conclude that the incidence of such Ruist rhetoric in the political language of the times indicates significant Ruist participation in

policy­making or administration.

A particularly apt historical example illustrates perfectly this need to distinguish between rhetorical and political influence. It involves the civil war in the state of Yen

(316­314 B.C.). Every aspect of this affair involves the manipulation of Ruist rhetoric by pragmatic politicians.

The crisis in Yen began when unscrupulous ministers, interested in elevating one of their number to supreme power, employed Ruist arguments to persuade the ruler of

Yen to cede his throne to his Prime Minister (CKT:9.11b­12a).61 The legitimate heir raised a rebellion, whereupon the border state of Chung­shan seized on the

chaotic situation to invade and

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capture land from Yen. This invasion was justified in Ruist language, as a proper punishment for the ''wayward" rulers of Yen. They had "violated li and righteousness"

and confused "the li which distinguish superior from inferior." 62

Meanwhile, the giant state of Ch'i decided that this was an opportune time to launch its own invasion of Yen. Just at that time, the Ruist Master Mencius was in Ch'i,

where he had been granted the exalted rank of high minister, a rare instance of a Ru holding a political title—although the accounts of the Mencius indicate that

Mencius took no part in the actual administration of government, and his high rank was probably honorary (see below). According to the account of the Chan­kuo

ts'e, Mencius urged the King of Ch'i to invade Yen on ethical grounds (CKT:9.13a). But the Mencius painstakingly explains that the government of Ch'i actually

tricked Mencius and distorted the meaning of his words (M:2B.8­9).63 Apparently, Ch'i manipulated the words of its token Ruist minister in order to launch its

invasion with a claim of Ruist sanction. Mencius properly awaited the end of hostilities and then resigned his post (M:2B.14).

Ch'i succeeded in conquering Yen and proceded to install the legitimate heir as its puppet. But the new prince turned on Ch'i, and, seeking to revive the strength of

Yen, he issued a Ruist­style call for wise men to come to his aid. Many responded, but the ones chosen for political posts were not Ruists, but militarists, who rebuilt

the armies of Yen.64

So much Ruist rhetoric! But all to serve the practical interests of non­Ruist government. No incident in pre­Ch'in history better demonstrates the mistake of assuming

that the use of Ruist political rhetoric indicates that an individual was a Ru or that a government was Ruist.65

In sum, we find virtually no record of Ruists occupying political positions during the Warring States period. But they did gravitate toward feudal courts, where their

ideas became well known. Their presence on the fringes of political power led to the absorption of some of the less controversial aspects of Ruist rhetoric into the

political mainstream. This does not indicate that Ruists exerted significant influence in government, or that they generally aspired to do so. It reflects an increasing skill

on the part of political actors in coopting the issues of Ruist idealism, and in binding Ruists to their courts in nonpolitical roles by paying lip service to their doctrines.

Our historical survey does not confirm the interpretation of early Ruism as a political movement. This does not prove that Ruists did withdraw from the political arena;

our negative evidence can yield only an argument from silence, and such an argument cannot be conclusive. It can, however, surprise our traditional assumptions about

Ruist activism and shift the burden of proof to claims for substantive Ruist political involvement. Moreover, negative evidence concerning Ruist political efforts is by no

means the sole

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basis for the claim of Ruist withdrawal. A reexamination of the Ruist texts themselves shows that the principles that guided Ruists away from political involvement are

clearly and prominently articulated in the texts. No disciple who employed the lessons of these texts as a guide could mistake their message.

2.3.

The Textual Imperative of Withdrawal

Many passages in Ruist texts tell us that government service is an imperative, but that imperative is always modified by the proviso that it only applies when a practical

chance exists that such service will have its intended moral effect. The formula: "When the Way prevails, appear; when it does not, hide," is repeated at least six times

in the Analects, in a variety of forms (A:5.21, 7.11,8.13, 14.1, 14.3, 15.7). The message is conveyed in other ways as well.

Many Ruist recruits may have begun their studies with the aim of obtaining political posts. 66 Confucius is said to have lamented that, "A student willing to study three

years without accepting a post is hard to find!" (A:8.12). It makes sense to believe that Ruist political rhetoric attracted ambitious men as well as idealists to the Ruist

fold. One of the Ruist Master's tasks was to bring such ambition under control and reorient the student's primary goals toward study, the quest for Sagehood, and the

rewards of sharing in the life of the Ruist community.

Many passages in the Analects appear designed to redirect goals in this way. For example: "The Master said, 'To eat coarse greens and drink water, to crook one's

elbow for a pillow: joy also lies therein. If they are not got by righteous means, wealth and rank are to me like the floating clouds' "(A:7.16).

This sort of idea was never raised to an ascetic code that might alienate potential disciples. The lesson was framed in terms of a choice between shoddy immorality and

the rewards of a life of righteousness: "The Master said, 'If the path to wealth is honest, then I follow it, even if it means being the lowly bearer of the whip. If it is not, I

follow my own pleasures'" (A:7.12.)67

In the Analects, the message of political withdrawal is conveyed most effectively through the judgments made on positive and negative models. The leading positive

model in the Analects is the disciple Yen Yuan. He is the only disciple portrayed as having approached Sagehood (A:6.7). He is nowhere criticized and everywhere

idealized—Confucius even implies that Yen Yuan was ethically superior to himself (A:5.9). Yet Yen Yuan is never connected with political office, nor even shown

considering one. He apparently chose voluntarily to live in poverty and obscurity (A:6.11). Confucius said to him, "When [the Way] prevails, act; when it is discarded,

hide: only you and I can follow this" (A:7.11). Yen Yuan achieved nothing in the

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eyes of the world. All his achievements were within the confines of Confucius' small coterie.

Other disciples followed Yen Yuan's example of refraining from political employment. The Analects tells us that when the warlord Chi family wished to employ one

disciple as magistrate of their fortress city, he replied to their emissary: "Make it clear I must decline. If they pursue me, I shall surely be found on the far side of the

river Wen [i.e., out of reach]" (A:6.9). 68

On the other hand, disciples who did, in fact, hold positions of political authority almost invariably serve as negative models whenever their conduct in government is

touched on, usually because they have shown themselves impotent to effect changes in bad policies. The disciples Tzu­lu and Jan Ch'iu, the most politically successful

of the disciples, come in for particularly harsh criticism (A:3.6, 6.4, 11.23, 16.1). At one point Confucius even suggests that the other disciples "sound the drums" and

drive Jan Ch'iu from their midst (A: 11.17). Another disciple, whom the Shih­chi records as having lost his life in a political intrigue, is the most denigrated disciple in

the Analects.69

Confucius' own actions, as portrayed in the Analects, reinforce the message of political withdrawal. The Analects never portrays Confucius accepting a post in

government (although A:17.1 does come close to it). But it cites three instances of his turning his back on rulers who do not meet his high ethical standards (A:15.1,

18.3­4).

The situation is similar in the Mencius. Mencius formulates three alternative principles of entering government: a puritanism that allows participation in nothing less than

utopian rule, a missionary attitude that accepts employment under any circumstances, and Confucius' principle of accepting employment only when the time is ripe.

History records good men who have followed each principle, but Mencius endorses only the last: "Confucius was the Sage of timeliness. He represents the great

cadence . . . where the gongs resound and the jade bells chime" (M:5B.1).

The example of Mencius himself seems to be somewhat contrary to the principle of avoiding entanglements with corrupt governments. After all, Mencius, like

Confucius, traveled from state to state in search of a ruler who would use him, and unlike Confucius, he did accept a post, becoming a high minister in Ch'i. But this

picture is not quite complete.

Mencius was an eccentric among Ru because he supplemented the doctrine of "timeliness"—accept employment only when the times are ripe­with a millennial belief in

the immanence of the appearance of a New King (a point we will discuss further in chapter V). This did lead him to seek a ruler­patron with exceptional zeal, but not

with as much zeal as is often believed.

First of all, we find no indication that Mencius had ever seen fit to acquire

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experience in government. We do not hear of an ambitious young Mencius seeking out a magistrate level post as a way of gaining political leverage. The old man we

see in the Mencius is not a frustrated politician, but an aging philosopher hoping to use the leverage of his reputation as a wise man to break into politics at the highest

levels.

Mencius pursued this quest in a most unadventuresome way, generally traveling only to courts that had promulgated policies of patronizing wise men or appeared to be

on the verge of doing so. He was not willing to seek out audiences elsewhere (M:3B.1, 3B.3). 70

Nor was Mencius seeking political responsibility. His post in Ch'i, apparently the only one he ever accepted, as mentioned earlier, was almost certainly an advisory

position without administrative duties.71 He held it only briefly, and, what is more, he declined to accept his salary because from early on he was set on leaving as soon

as possible (M:2B.14).72 Mencius differed from other Ru only in that his style of political withdrawal depended on proving rather than assuming the futility of political

activism.

Returning to the Analects, we noted earlier that one task of the Master was to redirect the personal ambitions of disciples from goals of wealth and status to goals

oriented toward self­perfection and success within the Ruist group. One of the most prominent themes in the Analects addresses this issue directly: "Without anxiety

about having no position, be anxious for the wherewithal with which to take your stand. Without anxiety that no one knows you, seek that by which you may be

known" (A:4.14).

This message is repeated with variations in at least four other Analects passages (A:1.1, 1.16, 14.30, 15.19). The opening book of the text, which may have been

composed somewhat later than most other chapters and been designed as an overall summary of Ruist doctrine, both begins and ends with passages on this theme.73

No statement better affirms the inner­directedness of the Ruist community than the opening words of the Analects:

To study and ever practice: is this not contentment! To have comrades come from afar: is this not joy! Unknown and unsoured: is this not a chün­tzu! (A:1.1).

3.

The Community of Ru

We have spoken several times of the "Ruist community" without explaining just what the expression means. In this section, we will describe in more detail what the

early Ru were like and the role they played in Warring States society.

Perhaps the best starting point would be to recall Ssu­ma Ch'ien's description of the sounds of music and song that were ever heard in the Ruist homeland of Lu. The

types of practice which that picture reflects marked

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Ruists as social eccentrics. These ritual practices became the focus of attacks by hostile schools such as Mohism, and devotion to them came to be, for the disciple,

perhaps the most prominent mark of his personal identity.

The eccentricity of the Ru was manifest in their appearance. Ruists dressed in an archaic style that came to be known as "Ru­clothing." 74 They were fluent in the

ancient Chou court dialect, and their speech was filled with archaic phrases (A:7.18; MT, Fei Ju:9.17b; Kung Meng:12.9b).75

And then there was their obsession with the ceremonies of li and their associated aesthetic forms. The Mo Tzu expresses its disgust with the Ru in this way:

[They] bedeck themselves with elaborate dress to poison the world. They strum and sing and beat out dance rhythms to gather disciples. They proliferate li of ascending and

descending to display their manners. They labor over the niceties of ceremonial gaits and wing­like gestures to impress the multitudes (Fei Ju:9.40­41).

An odd group of people indeed.

Perhaps because few Ruists became politically prominent prior to the Han, information about the lives of Warring States Ru is scarce. But in this section we will try to

piece together whatever information we can and discuss the Ruist community in terms of its internal structure as a socially distinct cult, in terms of the syllabus that

Ruists studied and taught, and in terms of the social roles that Ruists played in order to sustain a place for themselves in the general community.

3.1.

The Ruist Study Group

As best we can determine, Ruism as a social entity began with the group of disciples who first gathered around Confucius sometime near 500 B.C. Of course,

Confucius' thought did not arise in a vacuum; he had been steeped in the complex traditions of Chou society. Nor was Confucius the only man of his day deeply

versed in ritual arts. Ritual specialists such as shamans, liturgists, and court scribes all carried on elements of early Chou ritual tradition. Confucius absorbed much from

ritual specialists and from other traditional sources; he himself viewed his teachings as wholly derivative (A:7.1). Nevertheless, they mark the start of a new tradition,

and the Analects makes this clear when it tells us that Confucius himself was the disciple of no teacher (A:19.22).76

Confucius and his disciples created a new type of social unit, an enduring group organized not on hereditary, political, or economic bases, but on the basis of a

common commitment to a course of study. The general structure of Ruism continued to be modeled on the pattern of Confucius' study group. The only way to become

a Ru was to do what the original disciples did: study for many years with a Master.

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The Analects shows us what a tightly knit brotherhood the study group could be. The text is more than a collection of sayings, it is a version of primary Ruist

mythology, and its appeal goes beyond its philosophical interest. It stands as a remarkable piece of literature, and its literary value lies largely in the interplay between

its ideas and its characters. Disciples who read the text were instructed as much in the sentiment of belonging to a Ruist family as they were in doctrine. The authors of

the Analects seem to have embraced this aspect of their book. The text is peppered with entries having little function other than to portray the touching personal

relationships of the Ruist group. 77

Creel has speculated that Confucius' disciples lived with him (1949:78). While there is no certain evidence that this was so, it is clear that during his exile they traveled

with him, and shared his frequently ill­fortuned lot (A:15.2). The relationship between Master and disciple was close to that between father and son. The Analects tells

us that when Confucius was ill, Tzu­lu asked permission to offer up prayers for him, and staged ceremonies intended to make the spirits grant Confucius greater

respect after his death (A:7.35, 9.12).78 In the Mencius we hear that after Confucius' death the disciple Tzu­kung performed the three­year mourning rites of a son,

living in a hut by the side of his Master's grave (M:3A.4).79

After Confucius' death, the disciples perpetuated the life of the study group. At first, it is said, they chose one of the senior disciples to honor as they had Confucius,

but subsequently they parted company, many of the major disciples becoming Masters of their own study groups (M:3A4).80 In this way, the Ruist community began

to disperse into independent units, each modeled on the example of the first study group.

The commitment of disciple to Master was lifelong. Although disciples might reject their Master and leave, or decline to join him in travel, judging from the Analects

and the Mencius, many did not. In the Mencius, we encounter two disciples of a recently deceased Ruist Master who have abandoned their Master's teaching to

follow a heterodox school. In berating them for their treachery, Mencius mentions that they had served their former teacher for "decades" until his death (M:3A.4).

Even poor students never left the group!

Mencius traveled with an entourage of disciples, and although they are not extensively portrayed in the Mencius, the core members of his group appear to have stayed

by him for many years.81 In the state of Ch'i, Mencius seems to have encountered another prominent Ru named Kao Tzu.82 The Mencius shows us the clash between

the study groups of these two Ruist Masters, with Mencius coaching one of his disciples in the art of besting Kao Tzu's disciples in debate (M:6A.5).83

Although the early Ruist community can be conceived as a network of

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study groups, it was by no means a united network, as the conflicts between Mencius and Kao Tzu show. Factionalism among Ruists appeared early; the seeds are

evident even in the Analects, which records disputes among disciples after Confucius' death (A:19.3, 19.12, 19.15­16). By the late Warring States period, factional

disputes had become bitter indeed. In the Hsun Tzu, rival Ruist factions are attacked with a venom as virulent as that directed against heterodox schools. 84 The Han

Fei Tzu records that as many as eight major Ruist factions existed by the end of the Chou (Hsien­hsueh: 19.7b).85

3.2.

The Ruist Syllabus

The Ruist stress on study was absolute. "Study" (hsueh) is the first word of the Analects, and when Confucius recounts his thumbnail autobiography, the first event is,

"At fifteen I set my heart on study" (A:2.4).86 Confucius regarded his love of study as what set him apart from other people (A:5.28). For him, study was as basic as

thought, if not prior to it: "I have spent whole days without eating and whole nights without sleeping in order to think. It was useless—not like study!" (A:15.31). In this

section we will try to describe just what study entailed for a Ru.

The Ruists did not invent formal education in China, but they may have been among the first to grasp intellectually the tremendous importance of education in shaping

every aspect of a person's character. Some question exists as to whether formal education was either intensive or widespread prior to Confucius' time. Late sources,

such as the various Ruist ritual manuals, recount in exquisite and contradictory detail the structure and syllabi of early Chou education.87 The detail of these books

clearly labels them as idealizations, and, if they are indicative of any actual education practices, they are more likely to have been those of early Ruist study groups than

those of the early Chou aristocracy 88

Whether the need for broad formal education was recognized prior to the Ruists or not, it seems likely that no other group had such faith in the transforming power of

education: "If I wished to change from base to noble, stupid to wise, poor to rich, could I? I say: Study . . . Just now I was a muddled man in the street; a moment

later and I am the equal of Yao and Yü!" (H:8.39­41). Just what did this study entail?

Basically, the Ruist syllabus consisted of four elements: the study of the gymnastic arts of war, the study and interpretation of texts, the study of li, and the study of

associated aesthetic forms, such as music and dance. Formal and informal ethical discussion—the aspect of study that is recorded in our texts—accompanied all four

elements. As we explore the syllabus here, we will find that all four elements—not only the last two—were directed toward cultivating in the Ruist student an all­

encompassing mastery of stylized, ritual action.

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Of the four areas, the one least discussed in the texts is the first: the martial arts, including archery and charioteering. 89 These skills were probably acquired by every

member of the aristocracy, and it is likely that most or all Ruist students would have been proficient in these arts prior to joining the Ruist group.

Nevertheless, archery practice, at least, seems to have been included in the Ruist syllabus; we can draw this conclusion from the fact that Ruist texts speak of archery

as a means of self­improvement. The Analects, for example, discusses archery as a field for manifesting the proper spirit of ritual conduct among equals. Archery

contests are where men "compete at being gentlemen" (A:3.7).

The Mencius expands on this somewhat, and makes it clear that archery was seen as an ethical type of motor training: the quality of the physical shot was a reflection

of the quality of one's moral attitudes (M:2A.7). The late Ruist text Li­chi contains a detailed interpretation of archery as an ethical medium of conduct. The central

idea is that archery should be a perfect display of virtue because the arrows are shot from the midst of a completely ritualized setting (She yi:20.8a).90

The second category, the study of texts, is usually overemphasized in the West. Again, this is probably due to the bias of our sources, which are themselves texts, and

are better suited to recording discussions of Poetry passages than to describing archery or other ritual practices that occurred on an uninteresting daily basis.

Nevertheless, although it has been overemphasized, the study of texts did become central to Ruism. The Hsun Tzu includes citations from the Poetry, Documents,

Spring and Autumn Annals, and Yi ching, as well as from ritual books and other texts. At the start, in the Analects, the list is much briefer. The Poetry was certainly

studied; it is frequently cited and discussed. We also find several references to "Documents," but whether this refers to the text we now know by that name or not is

uncertain (Matsumoto 1966:17­20).91

The most discussed text in all Ruist works is the Poetry, and this alerts us to a seldom­stressed facet of Ruist textual study. We know from a variety of sources that

the Poetry was not simply a group of songs collected for readers' pleasure and edification. The poems were employed as "scripts" on formal occasions. Skill in citing

the Poetry was a form of ritual mastery. The speaker had to understand rules of citation and had to be creative within them.92 This is why the Analects can say, "If

you do not study the Poetry, you have no means whereby to speak" (A:16.13).93

Mastery of the Poetry was not an abstract scholarly interest; it was one aspect of self­ritualization. It provided the disciple with weighty scripts upon which to rely in

general social intercourse. Of course, the subtlety of

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citing the Poetry lay in the speaker's ability to reveal a deep understanding of the meaning of the text, hence memorization was only the beginning; exegesis was a

central concern. This is evident even in the Analects (A:1.15, 3.8); in the Mencius we find general rules of exegesis discussed (M:5A.4). By the time of the Hsun Tzu,

the exegetical traditions that characterize Han Ruism are already in evidence, with elaborate moral interpretations attached to even the simplest poems (e.g., H:21.47­

49). But this tradition should be viewed as an extension of the earlier one. The interest was not academic, it remained tied to ritual social action.

From Mencius' time on, at least, Ruists also studied the Documents. Such study was important because it informed disciples of "historical" precedents for Ruist

doctrines, which could be used to legitimize Ruist ideas and actions. But as with Poetry study, the primary use of the Documents was probably as a vehicle for

scripting speech. We can see this when we contrast the way in which the Documents is generally employed in Ruist texts and in the Mo Tzu (Mohists also studied the

Documents, although the two schools seem to have read different versions of the text). While Ruist texts tend to employ the Documents much as they do the Poetry,

citing brief passages (often out of context) to convey a moral point elegantly, the Mo Tzu frequently cites the Documents at length, treating the text as a narrative with

a moral (e.g., Shang­hsien II:2.11b; Chien­ai III:4.14b [but cf. A:20.1]; Ming kuei:8.9a; Fei ming:9.13). The Ruist style of usage reflects the role of textual citation

as an ornament of speech.

Thus, Ruist textual study grew out of an aim to incorporate those texts in conduct. Certainly more abstract intellectual rewards were found, and, by the Han period,

Ruist study was undoubtedly bookish. 94 Even during the early period, we find the Hsun Tzu attacking Ruists who placed too great an emphasis on textual study at

the expense of the study of li (H:8.91­92). But basically, textual study was part of the Ruist process of moral self­stylization, which Mencius described thus: "If you

wear Yao's clothes, chant Yao's words, and act as Yao acted, then you are simply Yao" (M:6B.2).

The third topic of the Ruist syllabus was li, and although we list it here as one of four topics, it should be understood that li was, in fact, what the entire educational

program was about. The point of studying archery was to learn physical and emotional control in a ritualized context; the point of studying texts was to ritualize one's

speech. All aspects of Ruist study were directed toward ritualizing the student; study of the explicit codes of li was only one aspect.

Once again, the texts we possess tend to report things said rather than things done. Works such as the Analects do not list the types of li studied or discuss the

frequency of practice. But the evidence of the Ruist obsession with li is quite visible: it is embodied in the tomes of ritual codes the Ruists

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compiled during the late Chou and early Han. Some of these, such as the Yi­li, were probably used as workbooks. The more theoretical texts are most likely to have

grown from group discussions in which Masters recounted or improvised increasingly elaborate ethical meanings of the rituals they performed.

But Ruists did not merely memorize and theorize about ritual codes, they learned to do ritual, and they aimed at a complete stylization of their persons according to li.

In the Analects, Confucius tells Yen Yuan never to look at, listen to, say, or do anything that is not li (A:12.1). For Hsun Tzu, the role of li was to mold people into

ideal types. Ritual food molds the sense of taste, ritual fragrances mold the sense of smell, ritual ornamentation molds the eye, ritual music the ear, and ritual halls and

furniture mold the body (H:19.3­5). 95 The role of li goes beyond codes, because li molds every aspect of a man.

According to the Hsun Tzu, "The course of study begins with the chanting of texts and culminates in the study of li" (H:1.26).96 The ideal man is portrayed as a

completely stylized being: "His cap is high, his robes billow about him, his expression is benevolent. Dignified and stately, free from care and want, boundless, vast,

bright, serene—thus does he present the role of father and elder"(H:6.42­43).

As we discussed, ritual is generally formulated according to aesthetic criteria, and the Ruist process of self­ritualization was also a training in aesthetic skills. Some of

these skills were simple, such as learning to execute li with precision and grace.97 But Ruists also delighted in and practiced the more artistic skills associated with li.

We find considerable evidence of this in the Analects. We learn there that Confucius was accomplished on the zither (A:17.18), and that zithers and drums were

played during group meetings (A:11.17, 11.24). There is even a metonymic reference to a disciple by his zither, indicating the importance of the instrument to the

group (A:11.15). And we hear of Confucius' scrupulous delicacy in joining in song with others (A:7.32).

Confucius did not just like music; he was expert in it. When we see him in discussion with the Grand Music Master of Lu, it is Confucius who lectures the Music

Master, not the other way around (A:3.23).98 Elsewhere, Confucius claims to have "properly ordered" the music of the Poetry, though just what this means is

uncertain (A:9.15).99

In early China, no clear distinction was made between poetry, song, and music, such as we make today. "Poetry" (shihc) was not spoken, it was chanted and sung;

"music" (yueh) was often accompanied by lyrics. When we picture the Ruist citing a poem in the midst of an argument, we must realize that not only was he gracing his

speech with ancient words, but he was ornamenting it with music as well. And in addition to this, a number of

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sources testify that the verses of the Poetry were meant to be danced as well as sung. 100

Although our portrait of Ruist practice pictures it as an all­encompassing ritual dance, the role of formal dance in the Ruist syllabus is somewhat elusive. Perhaps

because dance was subsumed under the categories of li and music, it is not much discussed as a discrete activity in our three early Ruist texts. But the probability that

it occupied a significant place in the syllabus is indicated by the role that dance plays in the idealized education syllabi described in Ruist ritual texts. Although most of

these texts are generally believed to have attained their current form during the Han, they include a great deal of late Chou material. They frequently purport to

describe early Chou practice. The idealistic portraits they present most likely reflect forms and values that characterized not the early Chou royal house, but the late

Chou Ruist community.

The Chou­li reports that in ancient practice, the Grand Supervisor of Music was the chief officer of education. It was his task, we are told, to assemble all promising

noble youths at the Ch'eng­chün Academy, where they were instructed in music and dance (Ch'un­kuan, Ta ssu­yueh:6.1). Under him was the Music Master, who

was in charge of all elementary education, which consisted primarily of the teaching of ''minor" dances (Yueh­shih:6.7b).

Another Ruist text, the Wen Wang shih­tzu chapter of the Li­chi, begins its syllabus by proclaiming "One must teach noble heirs and cadets according to the proper

season. In spring and summer they learn dances of the shield and spear; in autumn and winter, dances of feather and flute" (LC:6.13a). Their teachers, as in the Chou­

li, are music masters.

The Nei tse chapter of the Li­chi does not place music and dance at the head of the curriculum as do these other texts, but in its graded syllabus it notes precisely

which dances are studied at each age, beginning at age thirteen (LC:8.25b­26a). In the Wang­chih chapter, dance is not specifically mentioned; the curriculum for

higher education consists of poetry, texts, li, and music. But here again, the teaching is under the aegis of an Officer of Music, and the evaluation of the students for

purposes of advancement in government is in the hands of the Grand Officer of Music (LC:4.10b).

These texts reflect a belief in the primary importance of music and dance to education, and, in light of their idealizations of Chou education practice, it seems very likely

indeed that Ruist disciples were instructed in dance as well as in poetry and music. The Hsun Tzu seems to refer to such instruction when it explains that the only way

to understand the meaning of a dance is to practice the dance repeatedly (H:20.39­40).

I have dwelt at some length on the aesthetic aspects of Ruist education because I feel that these elements make plausible the Ruist dedication to li.

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It is my experience that Westerners find the Ruist interest in li puzzling and assume that the real heart of their teaching must lie elsewhere. I think that the center of

Ruism is unmistakably li, and that the problem is not the incongruity of educated men constricting their lives into a ritual mold, but is our frequent misunderstanding of

what ritual entails.

Every rite that a disciple memorized, every poem, every zither tune, every intricately choreographed ceremony constituted a new skill in artistry, one that he could

apply in social life. The Ruists were specialists in the human arts. Their study encompassed nearly every major aesthetic form of their day: poetry, music, costume,

dance, and the infinite crafted objects of ritual. Can we doubt the rewards of mastering these arts?

The Master Ru was essentially an artist, and his love for his ritual art was not a pose. It was in ritual living that he found his greatest satisfaction.

A passage in the Analects expresses this feeling perfectly. In it, Confucius asks four disciples to confide to him their dreams: "You are always complaining that nobody

knows you. If someone were to recognize your abilities, what would you want to do?"

The first three disciples describe various feats they would like to perform: to regenerate a state through revitalizing its armies (a caricature of Tzu­lu), or to do it through

good policies, or to be a high court ritualist. But when it comes to the fourth disciple, Tseng Tien, the answer is different:

"Tien, what about you?" The rhythm of his zither slowed; it rang as he laid it down and rose. "My thoughts differ from the others'," he said. "There is no harm in that," said the

Master. "After all, each of us is simply speaking his heart." ''In late spring," said Tseng Tien, "after the spring garments have been sewn, I would go out with five­times six capped

young men, and six­times seven boys. We would bathe in the River Yi, and stand in the wind on the stage of the great rain dance. Then chanting, we would return." The Master

sighed deeply. "I am with Tien," he said (A:11.24). 101

3.3.

Philosophers and Funeral Directors

Before closing our description of the early Ruist community, we should briefly note another sphere of noninstrumental Ruist interests: the necessities of economic

sustenance. In some respects, these factors can be seen as the ultimate heart of Ruism: modern history tends to regard economic motives as fundamental. We accord

them only a secondary position here because Ruism, being a nonhereditary sect, did not encounter its economic needs as givens, but created them as a consequence

of its primary commitment to ritualism and group study. While an awareness of economic factors can enhance our understanding of Ruist practice and doctrines,

ultimately these economic needs grew out of the decisions of individual disciples to adopt the Ruist lifestyle. Because we find no evidence that the economic

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rewards of early Ruism were great, we may suppose that, at least initially, idealistic interests were prior to economic ones for most Ru.

Although Ruism was in many ways a socially insular community, its political doctrines and the desire to maintain legitimacy prevented most Ru from adopting an

eremetic lifestyle. Economic necessity also required Ruists to play roles in society, ones that would earn them their keep without destroying the fabric of their cult

organization.

There is only the barest information in our sources concerning how they managed this. Four major methods are discernable: they could find regular employment as

teachers, they could seek out gratuitous patronage, they could find posts as family or court ritualists, or they could hire out as masters of ceremony for important ritual

occasions. We will discuss each of these alternatives and their implications for Ruist doctrine very briefly here.

Several dimensions of teaching were open to the talented Ru. He could form his own study group by attracting disciples, who may have contributed to their teacher's

well­being by bringing him tuition or gifts. 102 A large enough entourage might raise a teacher's reputation and lead to other opportunities.

Because Ruists were accomplished in many of the traditional arts of China, they were logical choices for wealthy non­Ruist families or courts to hire as private tutors

for their sons (as Tzu­hsia became court tutor in Weia). The pervasive Ruist advocacy of universal education might have been related to their talents as teachers. If

Ruist Masters were at all successful in lobbying for broadened education programs, they might have been able to provide their students with salaried positions as local

teachers.103

The quickest way for a Ru to secure a steady income for himself and for his disciples was to be patronized as a "wise man" at a feudal court or by a great warlord.104

But naturally, few Ruists were able to attract such patronage, and the quest for gratuitous support may have frequently taken less seemly forms. The Mo Tzu states

flatly that Ruists supported themselves by begging (Fei Ju:9.17b).

If a Ruist lived near a feudal court where ritual forms were carefully observed, he might find employment there as a court ritualist.105 But Ruists who were feudal

retainers might not have had much say about the nature of their duties. The Han Fei Tzu tells the tale of one old Ru who was directed to go pick medicinal herbs on a

mountain side (Nei ch'u­shuo II: 10.5b).

Perhaps the most common form of employment for Ru was as occasional masters of ceremony, or presiding priests, particularly for funeral ceremonies. Ruists

advocated funeral rites of remarkable length and complexity.106 They justified their position on ethical and historical grounds, but they were deeply interested in the

issue on economic grounds. They were prob­

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ably the only people qualified to perform these rites in full detail—their specialization in funerals was truly esoteric; discussions of these rites comprise perhaps the

largest single category in the Ruist corpus (Shirakawa 1972:67). By promoting the practice of elaborate funerals, Ruists were, in effect, creating employment for their

talents. 107

Even in this brief section we have touched on economic motivations for several aspects of Ruist doctrine. Their political doctrines endowed Ruists with social

credibility, giving them the necessary status to seek respectable employment. Their advocacy of intense and widespread education was abetted by an interest in

employment of teachers. Their obsession with li was coordinated with their availability as official or occasional ritualists.

It was precisely this linkage of cult doctrine and practice with economic interest which did, in the end, create a place for Ruists in Warring States society.108 Ruists

perfected a particular set of skills within the confines of their insular community, and they created a demand for those skills with a well­designed set of doctrines that

appealed to people by invoking the authority of semi­mythical culture heroes, traditionalism, homely contemporary ethics, and lofty idealism. Simply put, Ruist doctrine

reflected Ruist interests, and this should not surprise us because it is a truism that such linkages can be demonstrated of any philosophical school. It neither affects the

value of the doctrine itself, nor shows unethical intent on the part of the philosophers­although it might make them seem less heroic.

Summary

In order to be able to see how T'ien "fit in" to Ruist interests and practice we have been trying to discover just what early Ruism was all about. We have argued that

Ruism was not so much an ideology as a way of life, which centered around a devotion to traditional forms of ritual conduct called li. In a brief analysis of li, we

argued that they were traditionally legitimized on the basis of religious beliefs in their magical powers, and also on the basis of their confirming an established social

order. And we noted that in addition to these ethical dimensions, they were also associated with aesthetic values.

When Confucius and his followers addressed the crisis in values that had been created by the decline of Chou rule, their solution was to focus on li as a cardinal value.

To do this, they rebuilt the foundations of li, legitimizing it on the basis of its ability to generate social order and to transform people into Sages. This dual legitimization

created a bifurcation in Ruist philosophy, yielding conflicting political and personal imperatives.

In Ruist theory, the dimensions of self­cultivation and political activism were closely linked. They were sequential: response to the personal imper­

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active of self­perfection preceded response to the political imperative to change he world. In effect, however, the two dimensions were radically disjoined. The

idealistic conditions imposed on political activism effectively ruled out political action. Political doctrine was actually employed to legitimaze a withdrawal from politics

in favor of prepetual self­cultivation, in accord with the example of the ideal disciple Yen Yuan.

As a result, the network of Ruist study groups that flourished during the Warring States period tended to become socially insular, students concentrating on the tasks

of self­ritualization, and delighting in the rewards of participation in a brotherhood preoccupied with perfecting highminded and aesthetic skills. The syllabus they

studied was varied, and included martial arts and textual study, along with formulaic and aesthetic ritual study. But, in fact, all elements of the syllabus were directed

toward the end of ritualizing every aspect of speech and conduct.

The social insularity of the Ruist community was tempered by needs for social credibility and economic sustenance. Much of Ruist doctrine was shaped by these

needs. The result was a balance, where Ruists pursued an eccentric social course, but created and maintained for themselves a viable role in society.

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Chapter IIIThe Sage and the Self

In the portrait of Ruism we have developed to this point, we have sketched the historical background that made ritual li an eligible choice as a philosophical focus. We

have also delineated the parameters of Ruism as a school that provided structures of ritual initiation and as a social institution that provided professional roles,

enhancing in both aspects the appeal of ritual as a source of personal and social rewards.

In this chapter, we will complete our portrait of Ruism by concentrating on an aspect of explicit doctrine: the ideal of the Sage. Our discussion will clarify the manner in

which the ethical dimensions of Ruist ritual were broadened through linkage with a personal ideal of Sagehood, a linkage forged through the innovation of a

comprehensive ethical virtue: jen. Through ritual self­cultivation, disciples were to subdue their attachment to the perspectives of self­interest, and strengthen their

devotion to the interests of the human community. This new perspective, identifying self and other, was the basis of the personal ideal of the Sage.

This process was viewed as a fundamental transformation of the self, and we will see how the plausibility of the claim that such a transformation could be achieved was

greatly enhanced by the portrait of the empirical self which emerges from Ruist texts. In contrast to traditional Western ideas of the self, the implicit picture of the self in

Ruist texts is intrinsically social, and this accounts for the cogency of the notion of molding personal identity through commitment to the social institution of li.

1.

Practical Totalism: The Ruist Doctrine of Sagehood

Early Ruism shares with a number of other systems of thought the belief that an extraordinary level of understanding exists, attainable by man, which can comprehend

the phenomenal world as a whole. When this level of understanding is attained, any significant phenomenon will be perceived as possessing a clear meaning because it

will be understood in its relation to the whole. In other words, the multiplicity of the world makes sense, and it is possible to understand the holistic sense of it, and so

to understand any part in relation to the whole.

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We will refer to this type of doctrine as "totalistic," a term that signals both the impulse toward holism in the portrait of a universal level of meaning in the world and the

force of the associated imperative to grasp the universe in its entirety 1

Most Western philosophies do not posit any such ideal human type, but the case was quite different in early China. During the pre­Ch'in period, we see doctrines of

this sort expressed in texts representing several schools of thought. These texts reflect what we might call "the cult of the Sage." We see it in the Tao te ching, which

praises the Sage as one who "knows the world without going out his door, and sees the Way of T'ien without looking out his window" (chap. 47), words echoed by

the Hsun Tzu, which tells us that "without leaving his halls, the chün­tzu has assembled therein all the truths of the world" (H:3.38­39).2 Perhaps the simplest statement

of such a totalistic vision appears in what Fung Yu­lan calls the "materialist" chapters of the Kuan Tzu, which tell us that the Sage knows the outcome of events

without divining.3 The ideal of Sagehood as a totalism cuts across the philosophies of disparate pre­Ch'in schools.

Thomas Metzger has used the term "totalism" to describe the neo­Confucian "ideal of total, rationalistic knowledge of ultimate reality" (1977:61). Metzger's description

points explicitly toward a model of totalistic understanding conceived in terms of its cognitive properties. In the case of early Ruism, and of some other varieties of the

cult of the Sage, such an emphasis on mentalistic processes would be misleading.4 The true Sage was not merely a repository of facts and theories; he was a perfect

actor, a person who always chose the appropriate response to concrete situations, and so could protect himself from danger, seize every opportunity to exert an

ethical influence on the world, and set an example for others. We will see this active aspect of Sagehood stressed repeatedly as we explore our Ruist texts, where

every Sage is a perfect master of ritual action. Because of the overlap between the dimensions of thinking and acting in the Ruist portrait of the Sage, we may call

Ruism a "practical totalism," signifying the Ruist belief in a personal ideal who not only understands the meaning of every phenomenon in the universe, but also can

respond to phenomena with perfect appropriateness.

One significant aspect of such a notion of totalism is that it implies a closed notion of human perfection. In the modern West, most people would probably agree that

no individual, no matter how knowledgeable or mature, can exhaust all potential avenues of human growth. Neither the Nobel scientist nor his counterpart poet can

represent the single model of human fulfillment. But a doctrine of practical totalism tends to envision human perfection in a single mold: those who have attained

totalistic understanding are Sages, those who are looking for values in another direction are

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misguided. The proper goals of self­development are reduced to a single option. Doctrines of Sagehood do not generally allow for a pluralism of values. 5 As the

Analects quotes Confucius, "Who can go out except by the door? Why, then, does no one follow this Way?" (A:6.17).

1.1.

Jen as a Totalism

Nowhere in the Analects is there a systematic description of a totalistic consciousness, and the text can be read without introducing the idea. However, to read the

text in this way is to encounter a bewildering concatenation of independent moral virtues and imperatives, which leaves the impression that Confucius' philosophical

achievement was the laborious piling on of ad hoc rules. It has traditionally been recognized, however, that an important unity is created by the textual dominance of

the word "jen" in the Analects, and this is, in fact, the key to discerning the notion of the Sagely totalism in that text.6

The essential role of jen in the Analects is to be a mystery.7 Only Confucius and perhaps Yen Yuan—seems to know what jen is. Its elusiveness makes it the focus

of the text. Disciples repeatedly try to pin down the meaning of the word. They offer descriptions of virtue and ask Confucius whether these constitute jen; Confucius

almost never says yes (A:5.5, 5.8, 5.19, 14.1).8 But when disciples suggest that some person is certainly not jen, Confucius suddenly finds grounds for calling that

person jen (A:14.17­18).9 Jen is a paradox, and the disciple's task is to resolve it.

The word "jen" is not used with complete consistency in the text. At times, it appears to be only one of several cardinal virtues: "The jen man is free from anxiety; the

wise man is free from confusion; the courageous man is free from fear" (A: 14.28; cf. 9.29). But as we explore the entire body of the text, we find that jen is given a

clear priority over other virtues, such as wisdom and courage: "To dwell in jen is the fairest course; if one chooses not to reside in jen, whence will come

wisdom?" (A:4.1).10 "The man of jen will certainly be courageous; the man of courage will not necessarily be jen" (A:14.4). The panoply of individual virtues we find

in the Analects all seem, in one passage or another, to be defined as manifestations of jen.11

1.2.

The Single Thread

In Ruist texts, a persistent tension exists between the notions of having broad knowledge and being a Sage. While all Ruist texts agree that narrow­mindedness is a

bad trait, they are just as clear in holding that human perfection lies not in a comprehensive knowledge of facts, but in a comprehensive ability to understand ethical

meanings and to act accordingly. This tension reflects the antithetical opposition of the closed boundaries of Sagehood conceived as a totalism to the openmindedness

of fact accumu­

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lation. The Hsun Tzu is most articulate on this matter; it offers a variety of arguments to the effect that "study is precisely the study of limits" (H:21.81). Although the

Analects is not this articulate, it makes a similar point. Wisdom is not "knowing­that"; it is "knowing­how."

The Master said, "Do I possess knowledge? No, I have none at all. If some simple fellow came to me with a problem, I would—all empty—just strike at it pro and con, and solve it

so" (A:9.8). 12

The linkage of this skill of wisdom to the totalism is apparent in the following passage, wherein Confucius confides a lesson to the disciple Tzu­kung:

The Master said, "Ssu, do you take me for one who studies much and remembers it all?" "Yes," was the reply. "Is it not so?" "No. I link all upon a single thread" (A:15.3).

A common response of readers to this passage is frustration because Confucius does not say what the "singie thread" is. But in light of A:9.8 this may be unfair. If

Confucius is referring to a cultivated skill of understanding rather than to a fact or explicit principle, then we cannot expect to be told what it is—a skill cannot be told,

only taught. We must not think that Confucius withheld information from Tzu­kung by speaking cryptically of the single thread. Perhaps there was nothing to tell but

that the thread was there, and to alert Tzu­kung to the value of finding it himself.13 In his simple statement, Confucius describes the difference between studying facts

and studying Sagehood.

The Analects conveniently supplies us with an alternate version of the same passage, involving a different disciple, Tseng Shen, and considerably expands our

understanding of the single thread.

The Master said, "Shen, my Way links all upon a single thread." "Yes," replied Tseng Tzu. When the Master had gone, the other disciples asked, "What did he mean?" Tseng Tzu

said, "The Master's teaching is no more than this: devotion and reciprocity" (A:4.15).

Here, at least, we learn one disciple's confident interpretation of the single thread.14 What does it mean?

Some traditional interpretations have taken a clue from the unifying role jen plays in the text and have viewed "devotion and reciprocity" as a gloss for jen.15 I think

this is essentially correct, and it gives us insight into the meaning of jen.

"Devotion" translates "chung." Cognate graphs are "chunga": "center," and ''chungb": "inner recesses,"16 and these suggest a root meaning of "one's inner self." The

common sense of the word "chung" is often translated

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"loyalty" but in the Analects, a more precise gloss would be "singleminded devotion to fullfilling one's responsibilities." 17

"Reciprocity" translates "shu," a word defined in the Analects by a negative formulation of the Golden Rule: "Do not do to others what you would not wish done to

you'' (A:15.24).18 The graph is built on the phonetic/ semantic element "jua," variant "jub," which share a gloss as the second person pronoun "you."19

"Chung­shu," then, denotes a reciprocal externalizing of one's inner self in devoted action while internalizing the needs and interests of others as one's own.20 This

exchange of self­interest for a socially objective viewpoint is central to the meaning of jen and to the skill of perfect wisdom and action. It is the "single thread" that

denotes, in the Analects, the Ruist ideal of Sagehood. But as we have been speaking of it, it remains abstract and impractical. Without a concrete program of action,

"externalizing the self" and "internalizing the needs of others" are little more than jargon.

1.3. The Ritual Path

The crucial difference between the Ruist doctrine of practical totalism and those of other schools lies in the prescribed means of cultivating Sagehood. For Ruists, the

path to Sagehood was the study of li. By refining the style of his life through li, the Ruist hoped to train both body and mind to achieve a perfection of social action

described in the Hsun Tzu in dance­like terms: "He moves along with time; he bows or arches as the times change. [Fast or slow, curled or stretched,] a thousand

moves, ten thousand changes: his Way is one" (H:8.86­87).21

The relationship between li and the totalism is not always clearly drawn in the Analects. Some passages are straightforward:

Yen Yuan asked about jen. The Master said, "Conquer yourself and return to li: that is jen . . . If it is not li, don't look at it; if it is not li, don't listen to it; if it is not li, don't say it; if

it is not li, don't do it . . ." (A: 12.1).22

Chung­kung asked about jen. The Master said, "Whenever you go out your front gate, [continue to treat all] as if you were receiving them as great guests. Whenever you direct

the actions of others, do so as though officiating at a great sacrifice . . ." (A:12.2).

The primary element of jen here is clearly mastery of li, hence li seems necessarily prior to jen.

But some passages in the Analects suggest that, in fact, jen is prior to li: "How can the man who is not jen manage li?" (A:3.3); "Li comes after" (A:3.8). Passages

such as these have led some interpreters to speak of jen as if it were a principle of interior self­realization independent of external

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influences, with li as an active manifestation of this mental maturation. 23 In effect, such a model suggests that Sagehood is prior to li and leaves blank the prescription

for attaining Sagehood.

This sort of thinking confuses theory and practice, and is a product of the approach that views Ruist texts as reflections of structured doctrine rather than as guides for

disciples undertaking a practical syllabus. It is quite true that in the Analects jen is ethically prior to li: the value of li derives from its power to generate jen, which is

intrinsically good. Once the totalism of Sagehood is grasped, the disciple can throw away his li­books; he will be a perfect ritual actor naturally. But li is sequentially

prior, as A:12.1­2 makes clear.24 Disciples did not cultivate their inner virtue by means other than li and then choose to adopt li as their own. Joining a Ruist group,

they stepped into an environment of enforced ritual regimen, and it was through ritual practice that they pursued the Ruist vision of the totalism, the Sagehood of jen.25

The intense Ruist dedication to li suggests that it was through the habitual stylization of outer actions that disciples trained themselves in "devotion and reciprocity," the

elements of jen that constituted the Sage's impartial and all­knowing social perspective. Through this intricate discipline of body and style, the disciple largely

exchanged the narrow self of the "small man" for the all­encompassing self of the Sage.

2.

Sagehood and the Self

In introducing the notion that striving toward Sagehood involved a transformation of the self through ritual practice, we must ask in what sense we mean to use the term

"self." Not all definitions of the term will allow that the self is subject to alteration through practice, and we have not asked how we can apply the term in Ruism such

that the totalistic goals of Sagehood would seem plausible.

Herbert Fingarette has investigated how the Analects seems to picture the self in relation to the ideal of Sagehood. He describes a model of the self as a composite of

the will (chihe) and a self­regarding disposition. Fingarette suggests that the attainment of Sagehood involved complete identification of the will with the prescripts of

ritual, or the Ruist Tao, along with the annihilation of self­regarding tendencies (1979:134­36). This simple picture of the ideal self of the Sage resonates with theories

Fingarette has developed concerning the empirical experience of self reflected by the statements of the Analects. Focusing on discussions of moral responsibility and

decision­making, Fingarette concludes that the tone of untroubled certainty that pervades the text, and its view of choice as no more than a perennial option to follow

or not follow the Ruist Tao, reflects a psychological fact: that Confucius and his followers simply had not experienced the type of anguished

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psychic struggles that are so central to the Western experience of selfhood (1972:18­36, 44­45). 26 Fingarette's model effectively argues the plausibility of the

totalistic ideal of Sagehood by removing from it its most implausible elements and reassigning these to the psychology of Chou China.

Fingarette's reasoning is easy to attack. As he does so often, Fingarette uses the argument from silence, and compounds it with the questionable tactic of reasoning

from statements to their psychological background. It is unlikely that he is correct. The failure of the Analects to portray the inner psychic life probably reflects norms

of what one articulates in literary form rather than the existence of an internal vacuum. Chinese histories and fiction are notorious for laconic narration of events of great

drama without reference to the tortured thoughts of the actors; the agony is supplied empathetically by the reader, with, at most, a deep sigh from the narrator.

Nevertheless, Fingarette has focused on an important issue. Ruist texts and the totalistic ideal of Sagehood may indeed reflect a portrait of the self significantly different

from those we customarily fashion in the West. Different definitions of the person lead to different judgments of what is valuable in the self and what is important to

discuss. This will, in turn, influence the types of personal ideals that will be appealing and plausible.

In this section, we will analyze the configuration of the self as it seems to appear in the Analects and other Ruist texts and consider how this picture makes the totalistic

goal of ritual Sagehood reasonable. We will find that the Ruist picture of the self—which may reflect no more than consensus Chou views—incorporates social

dimensions incompatible with some Western ideas of the self, but highly compatible with the intrinsically social nature of li.

2.1.

The Public Self

When Descartes stripped away from experience all that could be doubted, he found, in the cogito, bedrock certainty of existence proved by the fact of thought. But,

as often noted, Descartes went further and made the unguarded assumption that the thought at the center of experience was personal thought, the thinking self. The

assumption escaped his notice because for Descartes the search for the core of the subjective world was precisely a search for the self.

Plato was one of the first to exemplify the Western habit of conceiving of the self as an unchanging inner entity. For Plato—and many after him—the self was an

immortal soul.27 Later thinkers reconstituted it as a spiritual substance (e.g., Descartes, Locke), as configurations of psychic functions (e.g., Freud), as the stream of

consciousness (e.g., James), and in any number of other forms, until very recently entirely mentalistic. Although suspicion of mind­body dualism has made it

unfashionable to think of the self as

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a substance, our tendency is still to conceive of the self as an inalienable interior core: a private cell impervious to the eyes of the public world.

Ruist texts seem to draw the self differently, and this becomes evident in passages where aspects of the person, which we tend to envision as necessarily private,

emerge into public view. In one such passage, Confucius describes the mind of his best disciple, Yen Yuan: "The Master said, 'Hui will go for three months without his

mind (hsina) ever deviating from jen. As for the others', they reach jen only occasionally'" (A :6.7).

It is puzzling that Confucius describes the minds of his disciples in this way. It cannot be that he has access into their thought; surely he is judging their conduct, and the

word "hsina" ("mind," or ''heart") is a rhetorical flourish.

But other passages are found in which the anomolous visibility of the self is harder to dismiss. The most illustrative of these again involves Confucius' description of Yen

Yuan. In it, the process of introspection appears to become interpersonal.

Inner reflection is denoted in the Analects by the term "hsinga": "survey," as in surveying land. The interiority of the process is indicated in phrases such as "surveying

oneself inside" (nei tzu hsing). 28 The passage in question connects reflection to the word "ssu": "self," "selfish," "private." The etymology of "ssu," links it, like

"hsinga," with geography: it originally denoted the crop of a privately assigned field.29 These two words work together in the passage, along with another word (faa)

which can mean "to bloom" or "to issue forth," to create a central metaphor. The text reads literally:

The Master said, "When I talk with Hui, he may go all day without contradicting me, as though he were stupid. But retiring and surveying the grain of his private field, after all it is

ready to bloom. Hui is not stupid!" (A:2.9).30

The central phrase can be read: "But retiring and looking into his self, after all [my teachings] are ready to issue forth." The language seems outlandish—how can

Confucius see into Yen Yuan's inmost self? But there is no great mystery. The self one examines simply includes public dimensions excluded from the Western self.

The aspect of self under observation here includes public conduct. It is not that the only dimensions of the self are external, but that the text is calling up a unified notion

of self that bridges dimensions we would discriminate categorically.31

This close linkage between inner and outer dimensions of a unified self is reflected in statements that claim that people's inmost selves are, in fact, open to scrutiny. The

passage that follows the one just discussed instructs us: "See what he does, look at his reasons, observe what pleases him­where shall he hide? Where shall he

hide?" (A:2.10). The Mencius makes a similar point: "Listen to his words, look at his eyes—where shall he hide?" (M:4A. 16).32

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The Ruist texts do seem to reflect a notion of the person very different from our own, one in which the external attributes of people are as important to the constitution

of their selves as mental phenomena. We do not need to infer that this reveals a lacuna in the psychology of Chou individuals, but it does alert us to the possibility that

they defined their identities differently from the way we do ours. Rather than suggesting that there was less complexity within the scope of their selves, we will do better

to picture them drawing the borders of their "private fields" at some distance outside their bodies, so that a portion of their selves was in public view. This does not

imply that people were unable to distinguish between the spheres we call private and public—the passages cited make clear that they did. But the distinction was not

regarded as categorical, and the person was entified in a holistic manner.

That this broad self may have ranged well beyond the confines of the body is suggested by the use of the term "person" (jena). Francis Hsu has argued cogently that

even in modern Chinese, the term "person" incorporates relational aspects such as family membership, place of origin, and social role, alien to Western portraits of the

self (1971). This social constitution of the person may easily have made normal processes of internal dialogue appear less significant than they appear in the West,

where they so dominate the experience of selfhood. This would be particularly true if social dimensions of the self were viewed as more valuable and, in the final

analysis, more real than the transient stream of consciousness.

In the next section, which examines the Ruist portrait of human nature as innately social, we will find that this was, indeed, the case. And we will see that weighting the

substance of the self toward the public sphere in this way also made both plausible and appealing the idea of transforming the self through li.

2.2.

The Social Self

Traditional Western theories of the self are rooted in beliefs about the ontological status of human beings. We tend to picture people as fundamentally atomic entities,

separated in space. Social relations are not intrinsic to the self. 33 This implies a description of social structures on the model of social contract theory—a confederacy

of ontologically independent beings; and from Hobbes to Sartre, this is a dominant view. Even if we grant social organization the status of the inevitable, we still tend to

regard social relations as accidental contexts for a self intrinsically unentailed in their net. Our picture is firmly rooted in common ontology: as Aristotle put it,

"Relatedness is, as it were, an offshoot or logical accident of substance" (NE: I. 1096a).

Chinese views, traditional and modern, conventional and philosophical, have tended to stress the fact that much of what comprises individual iden­

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tity is constituted in a social context. The portrait of human nature as intrisically social is a consensus position (see Munro 1977:15­19). 34 This common view was

rejected by Taoists, and perhaps by Mohists as well,35 but for Ruists, these ideas were congenial to their interest in social li, and they became defenders of what was

probably contemporary common sense (see Munro 1969:74­81).36 The most famous defense of the social portrait of man was offered by Mencius, who claimed that

the social patterns of ethical conduct were innate dispositions of the human mind (M:2A.6; 6A.6). However, Mencius' notion of the innately ethical self was not a

mainstream view, even among early Ruists.

The picture that probably best represented contemporary views of man is that presented in the Hsun Tzu. Hsun Tzu grants man at birth no more than certain biological

needs: "His mind is nothing but a mouth and a belly" (H:4.52). This is an animal being, not yet a "human" one. The human element is formed through socialization, and

this is made possible by the characteristic that distinguishes the species from other animals: the ability to form social groups on the basis of appropriate allotment of

roles (H:5.23; 9.70­71).37 These roles, the conventional patterns of society, constitute the social web in which the selves of individuals are nurtured.

Human qualitites do not emerge until the animal is socialized, first in the family context and later through the discipline of social roles. Thus, the human self is intrinsically

relational, and this is reflected in the normative use of the term "person" to denote one whose social accomplishments are great (e.g., A:14.9). These ideas also lie at

the basis of the frequent claim that the words "person" (jena) and "jen'' form a mutual gloss.38 From this model the Ruists derive the centrality of filial action: the family

is given to each individual as the context for personal humanization. Failure to master the role of child means failure to master the capacity for fulfilling social roles. The

unfilial person is not a person at all. The Chung­yung tells us: "'Jen' means to be a person; cleaving to parents is the key" (20).39

Thus, whereas the Western tradition has sought the distinguishing characteristic of man through an inventory of his subjective consciousness, Chinese tradition has

tended to describe it through patterns of social action, both for individuals, and for the species as a whole.40 An analogy from nature may make the Chinese position

clearer. Were we to ask about the essential nature of a "social insect" such as the honey bee, we would be unsatisfied with an answer that did not go beyond a

biological inventory of the individual bee. The most distinctive and important aspects of an individual bee cannot be described without reference to the hive, and in an

analogous way, for Ruists the most important aspects of mankind and of individuals do not emerge until humanity is viewed at the level of the group.41

All this is of a piece with our evidence concerning the public dimension of the self. But once again, although the social portrait of man is likely to

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affect attitudes toward the self, influencing both personal norms and what is considered worthy of recognition, it does not imply any impoverishment of mental life.

The moral status of the mental complex of inner mind was uncertain for Ruists, and here we may return to Fingarette's model of a self bifurcated into realms of will and

a self­regarding disposition. The latter, Ruists tended to identify with the prehuman qualities of man: the mind of mouth and belly. In the will lay the potential to realize

truly human qualities, and Fingarette is correct in pointing to the Ruist focus on the choice between following the path to humanity or remaining mired in animal urges.

Mencius specifically recognized both the dimensions and the alternatives, and he spoke of the two selves (t'i) of the person: the great self and the small self (M:6A.15).

Of these selves, only the former was considered a human self, and its boundaries were drawn well into the social sphere. 42

One aspect of the self, crucial to Western views, seems to be ignored in the Ruist account: the uniqueness of qualities and capacities inherent in individuals.43 As we

noted near the outset of this chapter, Ruism, as a totalistic philosophy, tends to cast the images of human perfection in a single mold, and rules out acceptance of

plualistic values. In view of the close linkage we in the West tend to make between personal identity and idiosyncratic qualities, it would be disturbing indeed to find

that the holistic self of the Ruist Sage may leave no room for variety. And we might wonder whether such an ideal could have provided for disciples the sort of

affective attraction that could sustain them in their long studies, whatever their notions of the empirical self may have been. Fingarette, a defender of the Ruist faith,

attempts to address such issues by suggesting that the ritual actor expresses creativity in the manner of the performing artist (1979:137; 1983:345). I believe the

analogy to be useful, and in the conclusion of this book we will discuss it further in terms of the rewards of skill mastery. However, one must allow that the field

demarcated for uniqueness and creativity is rather narrow.

What seems to be lacking in the totalistic portrait of the ritual Sage is that aspect of the person that we usually denote by the word "personality." Although Mencius

makes some motions toward acknowledging the possibility of variety among Sages,44 and Hsun Tzu describes a utopian vision where each member of society is able

to "give free rein to his abilities" (H:12.51­2), they fail to convince us that, in everyday language, Sages could have interesting personalities. This would have been a

difficult point to establish in a doctrine that exalts the power of social ritual to shape the self, and Ruist theory does not, in fact, leave much room for the personality of

the Sage.

But here, again, distinguishing between doctrine and practice is useful. If Ruists could not articulate the individuality of the Sage in theory, they nev­

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ertheless conveyed it vividly in the portrait of their patron Sage, Confucius, presented in their primary "textbook": the Analects. The doctrinal purist must always find it

a little puzzling to see Confucius ridiculing students, racing after Taoist hermits, rapping the heels of old men, and losing control at the funeral of his best disciple. And,

in the Analects, variety and uniqueness among selves is both acknowledged as a fact and celebtated as a value through the characters of the disciples, whose integral

role in the text is, I believe, unique in philosophical literature.

If one considers Ruism as a tradition rather than merely as a body of doctrine, one finds the notion of the actual person recognizable, and the picture of the ideal

person attractive and plausible. Endowing the Sage with a unique personality may have been beyond the parameters of consistent Ruist theory, but Ruist philosophy

was more than theory, and the message was conveyed through other strategies. 45

Summary

In the last three chapters, we have articulated a description of the ritual focus of early Ruism. In chapter I, we discussed how historical context made ritual plausible as

a philosophical value. In chapter II, we described how Ruism functioned as a ritual sect. In this chapter, we have dealt with issues concerning the ethical legitimacy of

ritual and the psychological plausibility of the personal ideal of the ritual Sage.

We are now ready to turn to the topic that will occupy us for most of the remainder of this book: the interpretation of the function of T'ien in the context of this ritual

doctrine. As we predicted in chapter I, we will find that the Ruist choice of ritual as a new value pillar served to reconstitute the nature of T'ien, which continued to

serve as a value ground, as it had during the early Chou. But our examination of the Analects, Mencius, and Hsun Tzu will also show that T'ien's legitimizing function

was complex. T'ien was required to authenticate both of the disjoined moieties of Ruist doctrine and practice: ritual self­cultivation and political withdrawal. The

bifurcated structure of Ruist doctrine yields a bifurcated portrait of T'ien.

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PART TWOTHE CONFUCIAN CREATION OF HEAVEN

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Chapter IVTwo Levels of Meaning the Role of T'ien in the Analects

The conclusions of the last three chapters sharpen our understanding of what early Ruism was. We will refer to them frequently as we explore the role which T'ien

plays in early Ruist texts. The aim of our analysis will be to examine the ways in which statements about T'ien reflect the concrete interests and goals of the early Ruist

community.

Because our primary concern lies in the instrumental function of these statements rather than in the choice of conventional beliefs or preexisting theories that they may

reflect, our approach will be somewhat different from that taken by most interpreters. Most previous analyses of the role of T'ien in Ruist texts have focused upon

determining which of several conventional images or "concepts" of T'ien (god, fate, nature, and so forth) is reflected in each use of the word. These questions are of

great importance in tracing the evolution of religious and protoscientific theories in early China, but answering them does not necessarily give us insight into the type of

meaning we are seeking. Certainly, when a statement about T'ien relies upon a conventional image, it is best to be clear about which one it is. But we must not think

that in detecting the operative image we have articulated the meaning of T'ien in the statement, much less the meaning of the statement. And we must also beware

classifying statements according to a limited variety of imagistic options. To do so may be to overlook the very ambiguities and nuances that make a statement or a

theory interesting.

As we proceed in our analysis, we will find that each of our three texts employs a variety of conventional images when speaking about T'ien. They are all inconsistent,

and this should alert us to the fact that their primary concern is not to fashion a theory of T'ien that can stand as an intellectual artifact. They borrow or invent in each

instance any theory which serves their immediate purposes—purposes which do not relate to T'ien at all, but rather to the concrete aims of each philosopher as

spokesman for the Ruist point of view. What all uses of the word "t'ien" share is the rhetorical force which that word possessed as a primary term of Chou religious

and political practice. It is of greater importance for us to understand how and why philosophers manipulated this rhetorical force than to reconstruct the image that

appeared in their minds' eyes when they did so.

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Having said this by way of a general introduction to analyses of our three early Ruist texts, we will now turn to the first of these, the Analects of Confucius, and

explore the role of T'ien in it. We will begin with a brief discussion of the nature of the text, and some general problems of interpretation that it presents.

1.

The Nature of the Text

The content of the Analects, 1 for the most part, purports to be a record of statements made by Confucius and his immediate disciples. But the nature and history of

the text itself has been a matter of persistent doubt and speculation2 particularly since the mid­Ch'ing scholar Ts'ui Shu demonstrated the significance of stylistic

inconsistencies in the text.3 Modern scholarly opinion tends to agree that the various component parts of the Analects probably vary widely in date of authorship and

also in the dates at which they were incorporated into the text as we have it today. A number of systematic attempts to trace the provenance of individual books and

entries have been made, but none can yet be judged completely successful.4

The complex problem of the origins of the Analects has raised questions as to whether the statements recorded in the text truly reflect the words of Confucius and his

disciples. Once we admit that a significant portion of the text is not what it purports to be, proving that any particular part of the text must be accepted as an authentic

record of Confucius' own words becomes difficult.5

Thus, we are offered two radically different ways of looking at the text. We can view it as the first text of Ruism, which records, more or less, the ideas of Confucius

and other Ruists of the early fifth century B.C. Or, we can see it as a collection of enduring thematic material, the product of many strata of composition and editing,

representing a rough consensus text, whose contents were more or less endorsed by all factions of the Ruist community over a period of time.6 This latter view—

which sees the Analects as containing many stages of an evolving Warring States portrait of "original" Ruism—suggests that the priority of the Analects is not so much

temporal as doctrinal. The text is rather like a Ruist bible. While Ruists always have been able to take issue with other early works, the Analects has traditionally been

treated as Ruism's essential teaching, the property of no particular faction.

These two levels present both a problem and an opportunity for the interpreter. The meaning of a passage can vary according to whether it is interpreted in its

narrative context, as the word of Confucius, or in the context of its inclusion in an edited text of canonical teachings. Traditionally, only the former context has been

viewed as "authentic," but in light of the

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problematic relation of the text to Confucius, in many cases an original meaning might be provided by the latter context alone. Previous analyses of the role of T'ien in

the Analects have suffered, in my view, because they have not distinguished these two levels. As we will see in this chapter, significantly different portraits of the role

of T'ien emerge depending upon which of these two levels we choose.

In general, our approach to the contextual interpretation of the Analects will be this: because the text probably underwent an extensive and disparate developmental

history, it is valid to interpret the text as an expression of the enduring interests of early Ruism, rather than as an essentially random gathering of independent micro­

texts, each properly understood only in terms of its instrumental value to an original author and/or editor. We will view the Analects as the cumulative attempt of

Warring States Ruists to portray their philosophical origins, pursued in part by preserving the words of the original Ru, as they knew them, and in part by ascribing to

or inventing for these men statements which—from the Warring States perspective—they surely would have said in one way or another.

From this point of view, we will discuss the Analects as a philosophically self­conscious text, and we will interpret its instrumental meaning in terms of the largely

synchronic model of Ruism presented in chapter II. We will employ this perspective to elucidate an implicit theory of T'ien which must be attributed not to Confucius,

but to the collective editors of the text.

Having done this, we will alter our perspective and speculate as to how the Analects may provide us access to Confucius' own views concerning T'ien, and the role

T'ien may have played in "original" Ruism. The conclusions we reach will indicate that Confucius' view of T'ien and the views of the editors of the text were probably

not the same.

We turn first to analyze the implicit theory of T'ien in the Analects (the editors' theory). Our discussion will reveal that, predictably, the Analects' portrait of T'ien has

two discrete aspects: a function of the bifurcated doctrine of early Ruism. On the one hand, T'ien forms a ground for the possibility of totalistic virtue and for the ritual

forms which provide a path to it. On the other, T'ien prescribes the puristic idealism of Ruist political policies, determines the failure of those policies, and ensures that

this failure must be understood as of ultimate ethical value.

2.

The Implicit Theory of T'ien in the Analects

Considering the fact that the entries in the Analects which refer to T'ien are scattered throughout the text in books that might have originated among disparate factions

and at different times, the portrait of T'ien that emerges is remarkably consistent. 7 The fact that this is so suggests that this view of

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T'ien was deeply ingrained in early Ruism. Despite important differences in emphasis and in the imagery associated with T'ien, we will find that the major elements of

the portrait remain visible in the more detailed and philosophically self­conscious discussions of T'ien in the Mencius and the Hsun Tzu.

One more preliminary: some remarks about the analytic approach we will take here. In organizing our discussion, we will lay great stress on the distinction between

prescriptive and descriptive aspects of T'ien. This distinction is a function of the double duty that T'ien performs as an explanatory fiction. Prescriptively, T'ien provides

reasons to act in certain ways in the future: we should do X because T'ien wants us to and/or will reward us. T'ien serves here as a normative value standard.

Descriptively, T'ien provides a reason why events in the past occurred as they did: T'ien wished it so.

Often these two roles cannot be rationally reconciled. We saw earlier how this contradiction lay at the heart of the mid­Chou crisis of value. When good is not

rewarded or evil goes unpunished, a gap occurs between T'ien as a value standard and T'ien as an efficient cause of amoral events. In the case of Ruism, a

prescriptive/descriptive gap existed from the start, as a result of the political failure of Confucius' moral mission.

Where such a gap develops, the three basic alternatives for bridging it are: (1) it can be ignored, 8 (2) the ethical or the causal primacy of T'ien can be compromised

(which may lead to ethical relativism or determinism),9 or (3) a new explanatory fiction can be introduced: for example, a teleological plan.

Explicitly, the Analects may appear to select the first option: it does not address the issue directly. But we will find that implicitly it chooses the third option. It

introduces the notion of a teleological course of events, and this restores to the descriptive events of the empirical world their "proper" value, which in turn preserves

the ethical value of the T'ien­supported prescripts of Ruist practice.

2.1. The Prescriptive Role of T'ien

As a prescriptive force, T'ien plays two major roles in the Analects.10 First, it provides a ground for the Ruist notion of transcendent wisdom, and legitimizes the Ruist

claim that traditional ritual forms provide the path to attaining it. Second, it legitimizes Ruist political idealism and the rejection of practical politics. We can organize

relevant passages into sets corresponding to these two functions, and we begin with those that employ T'ien to promote the Ruist commitment to seek Sagehood

through self­stylization.

The first of these is a cryptic fragment. It reads in full:

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The Master said, 'T'ien has engendered virtue (te) in me. What harm can Huan T'ui do me?" (A:7.23).

The passage makes little sense unless one accepts contextual material found in the Shih­chi, where we learn that Huan T'ui was Minister of War in the state of Sung

and Confucius' enemy, at one time threatening his life (SC:47.1921).

The T'ien pictured here is ethically prescriptive. It is the genetic basis of virtue, protects the virtuous, and punishes, or at least renders nugatory, actions directed against

them. 11 Perhaps we may also conclude that Confucius himself is implicitly pictured as the agent of T'ien, suggesting that the action of T'ien goes beyond responsive

reward and punishment and reflects ongoing purpose. But the passage is altogether vague. Any practical lesson that it may have been meant to convey is vitiated by

the notorious vagueness of the word "virtue" (te).12 Nor are any interpretive clues provided by adjacent entries in the text, which seem to have nothing to do with our

passage (a fact that has led at least one writer to regard this cryptic fragment as a late insertion in the text [Takeuchi 1939:135]).

Perhaps the Shih­chi account provides a clue to the concrete meaning of "virtue" here. The text reads:

Confucius departed Ts'ao and went to Sung, where, with his disciples, he practiced li beneath a great tree. The Sung Minister of War, Huan T'ui, wanted to kill Confucius, and cut

down the tree. Confucius departed. The disciples said to him, "Let us go quickly." Confucius replied, "T'ien has engendered virtue in me. What harm can Huan T'ui do me?"

This stylized account, with the great ritual tree standing as a sort of icon, seems to suggest that Confucius' virtue was tied to his ritual action, the object of Huan T'ui's

attack. Could this notion lie behind the Analects passage?

There is not much basis for this conjecture as it stands; Shih­chi material cannot generally be relied upon in this way.13 But we are fortunate that the same tale appears

to have survived in a different form, which appears in another book of the Analects. In this second version, the function that "virtue" performed in A:7.23 is performed

by mastery of aesthetic ritual forms.

When the Master was in danger in the state of K'uang, he said, "King Wen is dead, but his style (wen) lives on here [in me], does it not? If T'ien wished this style to perish, [I]

would not have been able to partake of it. Since T'ien has not destroyed this style, what harm can the people of K'uang do to me?" (A:9.5).14

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Together, A:7.23 and A:9.5 convey two important points about T'ien. T'ien generates a virtue embodied in individuals, and it legitimizes the ancient behavioral patterns

that were so central to Ruist interests. 15 The fact that the two passages seem to be versions of a single legend suggests that these two points are alternate formulations

of the same message: that the way T'ien "engendered virtue" in Confucius was by allowing him to "partake of the style" of the ancient Sages.

A:9.5 is followed in the text by another passage that refers to T'ien.

The Grand Steward asked Tzu­kung, "Your Master is surely a Sage, is he not? He is skilled in so many things!" Tzu­kung replied, "It is actually T'ien which allows him to be a great

Sage; he is skilled in many things besides." The Master heard of it. "What does the Grand Steward know of me?" he said. ''When I was young I was of humble station, and so I

became skilled in many rude things. Is the chün­tzu skilled in many things? No, not many" (A:9.6).16

The Grand Steward of this passage mistakes—perhaps maliciously—the meaning of "Sage" (sheng). He takes the disciples' claim that Confucius is a Sage to refer to

his many skills, and from Confucius' remark, we can understand that the skills of which this passage speaks were "rude" things, talents of no ethical significance. We

can envision a contemporary usage of the word "sage" to denote the sort of person handy enough to solve almost any practical problem—a jack­of­all­trades.17 Tzu­

kung replies that the Sagehood he means is of a different sort. It is a Sagehood guided by T'ien and quite apart from rude talents.18

We can learn more about this Sagehood from Confucius' remark. In the text, A:9.6 is followed by a brief entry that gives every indication of being a late insertion.19 If

we pass over it and turn to A:9.8 we find that it begins with phrasing almost precisely parallel to that which concludes A:9.6: "Do I possess knowledge? No, I have

none at all." We have already seen how the import of this statement is not to deny that Confucius was wise, but to tell us that wisdom lies in totalistic understanding, a

skill, rather than in accumulated knowledge of facts. The message of A:9.6 is essentially the same: virtue lies in attaining the totalistic perspective of the Sage, a master

skill, not in the proliferation of individual skills. It is the quality, not the quantity of his skills that defines the chün­tzu.20

Reviewing the passages we have considered thus far, we can say this much about T'ien: we are to understand that the "virtue" of Confucius was "engendered" by T'ien

(A:7.23), and that his Sagehood was "allowed" (tsung) by T'ien (A:9.6).21 The nature of his virtue we interpret to be his mastery of the "style" (wen) of traditional

ritual forms (A:9.5). The basis of his Sagehood is his mastery of the "single thread," the totalism that links and governs skills and knowledge (A:9.6 in light of 9.8).

These three passages

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already show us the role of T'ien as a basis for the Ruist totalism and its ritual path.

The linkage between T'ien and wen that we found in A:9.5 appears in other passages as well. In Book 5, for example, we hear the disciple Tzu­kung make this

apparently retrospective remark:

We are able to learn of the Master's paradigm of style (wen­chang), but his words concerning man's nature and the Way of T'ien we are not able to hear (A:5.13).

What is of immediate interest to us here is the juxtaposition of the "paradigm of style" against the more abstract notions of human nature and T'ien. 22 On the surface,

the passage appears to tell us that Confucius' teachings about T'ien and about the nature that T'ien has engendered in man are either secret or lost, and many

interpreters have read the passage in this way.23 But this interpretation renders the first phrase superficial. If we look for the meaning of the passage in the balanced

contrast between the two phrases, it appears to say something such as: "Don't ask about theories of T'ien or man's nature; you will find all there is to know about these

matters in the Master's program of self­stylization." In other words, T'ien's existence "out there" does not matter; it gives us no clues as to what we are meant to be.

For us, T'ien is manifest in and prescribes those behavioral forms that Confucius laid down as the basis for Ruist practice.

If this interpretation is correct, then A:5.13 reassigns the considerable rhetorical force of the word "t'ien" from images of the heavens or of spirits to the everyday

practice of ritual forms. This certainly brings T'ien into the Ruist classroom.

A similar reformulation of T'ien appears to guide another Analects passage, which can be seen as forging a link between T'ien as the astronomical sky and T'ien as

manifest in traditional ritual forms.

The Master said, "How grand was the rule of the Emperor Yao! Towering is the grandeur of T'ien; only Yao could emulate it . . . Towering were his achievements; shining, they

formed a paradigm of style" (A:8.19).

Yao—in Ruist lore the first Sage King—is said in other sources, such as the Yao tien section of the Documents, to have established a calendar and social order on

the basis of astronomical observations.24 This passage should probably be understood in light of such myths. And we should also note the opening passage of the final

book of the Analects, which appears to quote the text of some lost book of the Documents or a similar scriptural work. The rhymed phrases supposedly record

Yao's instructions to his successor, the Emperor Shun.

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Oh Shun! The calendar of T'ien rests upon your person. Hold to its central [course]. Should the four quarters fall destitute, the wages of T'ien will forever end (A:20.1). 25

As in A:8.19 this passage suggests that the institution of the kingship was founded upon the ability to translate regularities of the astronomical sky into prescripts of

social order, leading to enduring peace and prosperity.

A:5.13 and 8.19 both speak of the "paradigm of style," and they are the only passages in the text which do. The "paradigm of style" means, more literally, "pattern­

insignia." It is generally used in early texts to denote colorful patterns on ritual costumes.26 In these two passages, the achievements of Confucius and the Emperor

Yao are pictured as extensions of a ritual aesthetic, and this aesthetic is, in turn, linked to T'ien. In A:5.13, according to our interpretation, it is pictured as a

manifestation of T'ien. In A:8.19, it is modeled upon the more concrete manifestations of T'ien as Nature or as the astronomical sky. In both instances, the notion of

T'ien becomes intimately tied to the phenomenon of conventionally styled ritual patterns that are keys to Sage learning and to Sage rule.27

There remains only one passage in which T'ien plays a prescriptive role linking it to the Ruist totalism. It reads:

The Master said, "I wish never to speak." "If you never spoke," replied Tzu­kung, "then what would we disciples have to pass on?" The Master said, "Does T'ien speak? Yet the

seasons turn and the creatures of the world are born. Does T'ien speak?" (A:17.17).28

It is enlightening to view this passage in the context of the entries that surround it. A:17.15 and 17.16 both deplore those who use glib speech to attain their ends. In

contrast, A:17.18 describes how Confucius conveys a message to an unwelcome visitor without speaking to him. Throughout Ruist texts, there is a tendency to view

words with suspicion because they are subject to sophistic distortion.29 The ideal of the Sage often includes a notion that the perfect actor does not need words to

transform the minds of the people.30 In A:17.17, T'ien is pictured as the model for the idealized action of the Sage (approximated by Confucius in the subsequent

passage). There is a parallel between the action of the Sage, which is a function of his totalistic understanding, and the action of T'ien. T'ien itself—whether pictured as

Nature or god—seems almost to be a cosmic version of the Ruist Sage.

To sum up: passages such as A:7.23 and 9.6 portray T'ien as the source of the Sagely totalism. A:5.13, 8.19, and 9.5 portray it as the source of or as manifest in the

ritual style that forms the path to the totalism. And A:17.17 seems to make T'ien the direct model for the totalism itself. T'ien pre­

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scribes in various ways, but regardless of how it does so, it is clear that what it prescribes is the ideal of Sagehood and the Ruist path to it. The linkage of T'ien to the

everyday practice of Ruism is unmistakable: the Analects makes T'ien both the headmaster and the syllabus of the Ruist school.

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The prescriptive role of T'ien in legitimizing Ruist political idealism can be detailed more briefly, as it is explicit in only two passages. Both of these portray Confucius

declining to take advantage of concrete political opportunities in the state of Wei, because such action would involve unsavory political alliances that would

compromise Confucius' puristic idealism.

The first of these refers to an audience which, according to the Shih­chi (47.1920), Confucius was obliged to have with a notorious consort of the Wei ruler. 31

The Master was presented to Nan Tzu. Tzu­lu was displeased. The Master swore an oath: "That which I deny, may T'ien detest it! May T'ien detest it.!" (A:6.28).

We may rephrase Confucius' oath for the sake of clarity: "May T'ien punish me if, contrary to my denial, I acted to compromise our ideals." The passage aligns the

prescriptive action of T'ien with the ethics of Tzu­lu and Confucius, both of whom disapprove of any notion that political means can be any less exalted than political

ends.32

The same theme is repeated in another passage, in which Confucius diplomatically declines a pragmatic political alliance offered by a powerful minister in Wei.33 The

offer is made through a thinly veiled metaphor in which the minister likens his ruler to the guardian spirit whose altar sits in the southwest corner of households, and

himself to the god of the kitchen.

Wang­sun Chia asked, "What is the sense of that saying, 'Better to pay court to the kitchen than to the dark corner?'" "Not so!" replied the Master. "If one offends against T'ien,

there will be no place at which to pray" (A:3.13).

Wang­sun Chia claims to be the power behind the throne. Why be a stickler for political legitimacy, he suggests; throw in your lot with me and you will achieve your

political goals. Confucius skillfully employs Wang­sun Chia's own metaphor in picturing T'ien as an ethical arbiter, overseeing the course of political action. T'ien

prescribes a moral course and punishes immoral action. What success could grow out of T'ien's punishment? Ethical purism is the only possible road to success.

Hence, A:3.13, like A:6.28, employs

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T'ien in order to legitimize the Ruist policy of devotion to political purism and the absolute rejection of the methods of political intrigue. 34

This completes our discussion of the function of T'ien as a prescriptive force in the Analects. Our analysis has indicated that T'ien's prescriptive role is to legitimize the

distinct moieties of Ruist practical doctrine: the commitment to pursue the Sagely totalism through ritual self­cultivation and the withdrawal from practical politics in

favor of idealistic rhetoric.

We turn now to passages that deal more directly with T'ien as a descriptive force—as the entity or force that is accountable for the moral unintelligibility of the

empirical social world.

2.2.

The Descriptive Role of T'ien

The last section shows us that the editors of the Analects did little more than ascribe their own values to T'ien in dealing with its prescriptive aspect. The descriptive

aspect presented more difficulties. From a descriptive angle, it was inadequate merely to assert that T'ien conformed to Ruist values. It was necessary to show that

empirical events confirmed that this was so.

Given the amoral nature of empirical experience, and the particularly evident injustices of the late Chou period, the notion that events were shaped by T'ien in accord

with Ruist values was clearly a difficult one to support. The Analects' solution to the problem—a solution which, like the statement of the problem, is only implicit in

the text—was to rely on a further explanatory fiction, the notion of a teleological plan that T'ien follows. This notion shifts the evaluative standard against which events

are judged from the present into the distant future, and, in essence, subordinates the descriptive values of experience to prescriptive dogma.35 Regardless of the

evidence, all must be for the good.

The creators of the Analects use the teleological notion to explain why T'ien did not bring it about that Confucius—T'ien's own ethical agent (A:7.23, 9.5)—should

triumph over chaos and bring peace and order to the world, rather than being reduced to powerlessness and occasional destitution.

For the Analects, Confucius' failure was T'ien's means of arranging that his teachings be spread. It contributed more to T'ien's teleological plan for a just future than his

political success would have. This position is presented in the text through the words of a border officer in the state of Wei, whom Confucius is said to have

encountered either upon entering Wei after losing office in Lu, or upon leaving Wei without having achieved his political goals.

The border officer at Yi requested an interview, saying, "I have never been denied an interview by any gentleman coming to this place." The followers presented him. When he

emerged, he said, "What need have you disciples to be anxious over your Master's loss? The world has long been without the Way. T'ien means to employ your Master as a

wooden bell" (A:3.24).

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The "wooden bell" refers to an instrument used by heralds and criers to alert the populace to an important message. 36 So obscure has the Way become that T'ien has

judged it more appropriate to employ Confucius as a teacher than as a political leader. It is precisely through political failure that Confucius is able to serve as T'ien's

agent.37

This type of reasoning does explain events in a way consistent with Ruist values, but in another way it creates a huge gap between prescriptive and descriptive value. If

the value of an individual's actions derives from the contribution that those actions make to a teleological plan, of what relevance is it whether they accord with ethical

prescripts? A: 3.24 contains the seeds of a metaphysical utilitarianism.38

It is important to the Analects, and to Ruism in general, that the teleological determinism that it uses to explain Ruist political failures not devalue action according to

the ethical prescripts that are legitimized by T'ien in its prescriptive role. Several passages in the Analects assert the value of following prescript without regard for

empirical consequences.39 Two of these relate the issue directly to T'ien, and we will consider them in some detail here. They are of particular interest to us because in

different ways, both suggest that Sagehood—the end of the prescriptive path—is itself the bridge over the prescriptive/descriptive gap. This adds a new dimension to

the value of ethical action: it creates an understanding of itself. And by suggesting that the answer to the prescriptive/descriptive problem lies in Sagehood, the

Analects—however embryonically—adopts a position true to the enduring nature of Ruism: the intellectual solution is arrived at not analytically through logical

reasoning, but synthetically, precisely by following the prescripts of Ruism (and of T'ien) to reach an understanding of truth.

The more famous of these two passages recounts Confucius' thumbnail autobiography.

At fifteen, I set my heart on study. At thirty, I was able to stand. At forty, I was free from confusion. At fifty, I learned the decree of T'ien. At sixty, I heard it with an obedient ear.

At seventy, I follow the desires of my heart and do not overstep the proper bounds (A:2.4).40

Many things about this passage suggest that it is not a record of Confucius' own speech, but a late, retrospective look at the career of Confucius from the vantage

point of a developed Ruist ideology.41 Whether or not this is so, the passage eloquently articulates the relationship between the two doctrinal moieties of Ruism: self­

cultivation and political idealism, and, in doing so, it illustrates the Analects' approach to reconciling the prescriptive and descriptive aspects of T'ien. I hope to make

this clear in the analysis that follows.

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Passing over the first phrase for the moment, let us begin by trying to make sense of the vague statement, "I was able to stand," or more literally, "I stood." The verb

"to stand" (lic) can carry a sense of assuming an occupational post, and it is used in that sense in the Analects (4.14, 6.30). However, the text also repeatedly links the

word to the practice of li: ritual; for example, "Stand with li" (A:8.8); "If you do not study li, you will have no means whereby to stand'' (A:16.13; cf. 20.3). 42

These ritual overtones in the second phrase create a resonance with the first, which speaks of "study." As we saw in chapter 11, the Ruist meaning of "study" was

deeply entailed with ritual practice. The two phrases are linked. The first describes the initial commitment to ritual study, the second pictures a sort of graduation to an

initial application of ritual skills in assuming occupational and other social responsibilities.

Giving concrete meaning to the third phrase is difficult; let us pass it by for the moment.

The fourth phrase, Confucius at fifty, refers to the "decree of T'ien" (t'ien­ming), a term whose wealth of textual associations may do more to obscure than clarify its

meaning here (it is the term used to denote the Chou Dynasty's "Mandate of Heaven"). Commentators have been divided on the significance of this reference to the

decree,43 but the text itself provides two clues, and I think they are sufficient to solve the mystery. The first clue appears in the subsequent phrase, "At sixty, I heard

[the decree] with an obedient ear." If I have translated this correctly, it indicates that the decree was something that Confucius initially found unpleasant to hear.44 The

second clue involves the age at which Confucius heard the decree. According to our historical sources, Confucius was slightly older than fifty at the time of the great

crisis in his life, his loss of position in Lu and his subsequent self­exile (Dubs 1946). We may reasonably assume that this piece of chronology was known to the author

of the passage, and that the phrase refers to that event. If so, then it is clear that T'ien is used here in its descriptive sense, its decree being the failure of Confucius'

political mission. With this in mind, let us return to the third phrase, which speaks of being free from confusion at forty. We can see now that the preceding two phrases

chart Confucius' progress in ritual self­cultivation, while the subsequent phrases record the failure of his political mission. The claim of freedom from confusion stands

as a pivot between the phases of preparatory education and political effort. It resembles an understated claim of Sage wisdom; elsewhere the text tells us that it is the

wise man who is free from confusion (A:9.29, 14.28). I think that what the phrase must represent is Confucius' attainment of the totalistic perspective, and his

embarkation, as a Sage, upon his political mission.45

Looking at the passage as a whole, we can begin to see that it is really

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composed of two halves. The first half in itself takes us the full length of the prescriptive path of Ruist Sagehood, from the first stages of study to the resolution of all

uncertainty. In contrast, the second half opens by introducing the descriptive obstacles that confront the Sage as he steps into the world of political action. We can

anticipate that the logic of the passage is to set the descriptive action of T'ien against the prescriptive path of Ruism in order to instruct us how to reconcile the two.

Confucius heard the decree at fifty, but we learn that it took him ten years to accept it. By acknowledging this, the text seems to emphasize how deeply unintelligible

Confucius' failure appears from the Ruist standpoint. We must understand the force of the concluding phrase in this light.

This last phrase is generally taken to mean that Confucius had completely internalized prescriptive principle by age seventy. 46 I think that this interpretation falls short

of the mark by half. We have seen that at fifty and sixty, the desires of Confucius' heart were not in tension with prescriptive rules but with the descriptive limits to

which he was able to extend those rules. Now at seventy, his heart's desire has changed; he no longer wishes to overstep the limits drawn by the descriptive action of

T'ien. The culmination of his Sagehood does not lie in internalizing the rules—we might expect that of Confucius at forty. It lies in his reconciliation of ethical

imperatives with descriptive limitations, in adopting the limits that T'ien and the world impose as ethical principles of his life. This is Confucius in retirement, tirelessly

and joyously playing the part of the wooden bell.

The passage depicts political failure as a stage in the full maturation of the Sage. T'ien's descriptive role does not undermine the value of ethical prescript; it educates

the heart to embrace the empirical consequences of adopting those prescripts.

This theme, with its message that the Sage understands the necessity of embracing T'ien's teleological plan rather than one's own ethical ambitions, is repeated in a very

different way in Book 14.

The Master said, "No one knows me." "How is it that this is so?" asked Tzu­kung. "I do not complain against T'ien," replied the Master, "nor do I blame men. I study what is lowly

and so get through to what is exalted. Is it not T'ien who knows me?" (A:14.35).

Like the last passage, this one is carefully crafted, and rewards detailed interpretation.

The phrase "No one knows me" has a particular meaning in the Analects. It is the complaint of the thwarted office seeker, and the phrase Confucius is most eager to

banish from his disciples' speech (e.g., A:14.30). The word "know" (chih) carries a double meaning, both as "to recognize" and as "to

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employ." Hence, the complaint can be paraphrased, "No one employs my talents."

The term "get through" (ta) carries a similar ambiguity. It is most frequently used in the senses of "understand" or "make oneself understood," but it can also mean to

gain access to a ruler or to have one's talents generally recognized (A:6.30, 12.20). 47

The logic of the passage runs like this. Confucius, the noble political failure, voices the complaint we associate with immature disciples. This is a paradox, and Tzu­

kung helpfully asks for an explanation. Confucius responds with the true meaning of political failure: "I have no complaint against T'ien, nor do I feel men are to blame.

I have applied myself to the study of basic things rather than high­flown speculation, and in doing so, I have come to understand and to be recognized by what is

exalted. Is it not T'ien who employs my talents?" No ruler employs Confucius because he is already employed by T'ien. The failure to achieve political success is

reinterpreted as an appointment to T'ien's court, a reward for following the proper path of study: perfecting the basic paradigm of style rather than chasing after

"higher" things, such as theories of T'ien and man's nature.

As in A:7.23 and 9.5, Confucius is pictured as T'ien's agent. But A:14.35 goes further in reconciling Confucius' failure with his role as agent.48 In light of this, it is

probably not coincidental that A:14.35 is followed by a passage that closely parallels A:7.23 and 9.5, but which takes as its main object of attention not T'ien but

ming, "fate," or the "decree" that expresses descriptive reality.

Kung­po Liao denounced Tzu­lu to Chi­sun. Tzu­fu Ching­po reported it. "My master has long harbored doubts about Kung­po Liao," he said. "It is still within my power to have

his carcass exposed in market and court." The Master replied, "Should the Way prevail, it will be due to ming; should it be cast aside, it will be due to ming. What can Kung­po

Liao do about ming?" (A:14.36).49

Here Confucius is pictured using ming in much the way he used T'ien in A:3.13, as a defensive political fatalism that protects him from compromising his ideals and

engaging in political intrigue.50 Its particular interest for us here lies in its proximity to A: 14.35. If the two are taken together, the first can be seen as an embrace of

T'ien's teleological plan in which the values of political success are rejected, while the second can be seen as an illustration of this attitude, as it harmonizes a "fatalistic"

acceptance of Confucius' action with the prescriptive idealism of Ruist politics.

There is a sense here that the decree that determines the failure of the Ruist political mission almost frees the Ruist, extricating him from the toils of political

responsibilities and allowing him to retire, at least partially, into

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the pure ritual practice of the Ruist community. The three passages that follow A:14.36 all deal with the balance one must strike between fulfilling the prescripts of

political idealism through futile political preaching, and through complete political withdrawal. 51

In sum, T'ien's descriptive role, once accepted and understood by the Ru, ceases to be an obstacle and becomes a new ethical opportunity. The community of

politically impotent ritual actors forms an elite society of T'ien's agents: men who bow to the descriptive action of T'ien while pursuing the prescriptive ritual path. The

Analects quotes Tzu­hsia's words to a fellow disciple whose political fortunes have been destroyed by the actions of his brother, Confucius' enemy Huan T'ui:

I have heard it said: Life and death are determined by decree; wealth and rank are up to T'ien. The chün­tzu is unstintingly diligent: he treats people reverently and with li, and all

within the four quarters are his brothers (A:12.5).52

Man cannot control the descriptive action of T'ien; he cannot determine his fate in the world. But he can fulfill the ethical prescripts of ritual action, and so enter into the

alternative community of ritual actors. The descriptive role of T'ien in no way alters the ethical value of this prescriptive course.

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The model presented here sets forth, I think, the important themes of the Analects' treatment of T'ien. Of the seventeen entries that refer to T'ien, we have discussed

thirteen in the text and one other in the notes. Of the remaining three, one employs T'ien in a nonphilosophical sense as "sky" (A:19.25), and we need not consider it

here. Another is rather cryptic, and I feel that a precise interpretation of it is not possible. It reads:

Confucius said, "The chün­tzu holds three things in awe. He holds the decree of T'ien in awe, he holds great men in awe, and he holds the words of the Sage in awe. The small man

does not know the decree of T'ien and so does not hold it in awe, he is disrespectful towards great men, and he disgraces the words of the Sage" (A:16.8).

Some commentators have read great significance into this reference to the decree of T'ien,53 but my feeling is that the passage is so formulaic as to allow almost any

interpretation, and I prefer not to treat it here.54

The last remaining passage describes Confucius' cry of despair upon the death of Yen Yuan: "Ah! T'ien destroys me! T'ien destroys me!" (A:11.9). If it

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were the intention of the editors of the Analects that we should believe the truth of Confucius' charge, then this passage would clash with our overall model. In this one

case, however, I feel we must suspend our principles of interpretation and conclude that the passage does not contribute to the text's implicit theory of T'ien. The sole

purpose of the passage, I believe, is to celebrate the virtue of Yen Yuan by illustrating the depth of Confucius' grief, which is also the theme of the subsequent entry. 55

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The analysis we have presented here is intended to show that the editors of the Analects— in concrete terms, the generations of Ruists who recorded, composed,

selected, and arranged the text as we have it today—can be shown to have portrayed T'ien in a consistent way, which expressed the enduring interests and goals of

early Ruism.

In its prescriptive role, T'ien was essentially identical with the "Way" or "tao" of Ruism.56 It was the ground that supported the totalistic notion of Sagehood. It was

the model for and manifest in the ritual path to Sagehood. And it legitimized the political idealism that for Ruists characterized the wisdom of the Sage. The prescriptive

role of T'ien brought T'ien into the Ruist classroom. The devoted disciple could feel that as he watched the perfect ritual action of his fellow Ru, he looked upon T'ien.

When he himself participated in that ritual style, he could feel that T'ien was acting through his agency. In this sense, the word "t'ien" merely hypostatized Ruist

prescript in the terminology of early Chou religion.

In its descriptive role, T'ien accounted for the political failure of Confucius and of all early Ru, and it gave that failure meaning. Because T'ien was spoken of in

teleological terms, it could guarantee the rightness of Ruist idealism in the face of its empirical political wrongness. With T'ien on his side, the disciple could be assured

that the rejection of Ruist doctrine by an amoral society actually confirmed the rightness of the Ruist stance. In this sense, the word "t'ien" denoted the political

repulsion that actually freed the Ruists to follow their ritual path in ethical and partial social isolation.

T'ien was revealed to the disciple every day, when he looked upon the beauty of ritual practice among the Ru and when he considered his ethical distance from the

self­destructive immorality of society at large. T'ien was the growing ritual mastery within him; it was the perfect world of the future whose foundations he was helping

to lay.

3. Confucius' Doctrinal Silence

We have been exploring the function of T'ien in the Analects by treating each relevant passage of the text as a carefully chosen expression of

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the views of its many creators. The view of T'ien that we have pictured in this way can be said to represent a mainstream Ruist theory of T'ien, a theory that would

have possessed consistent instrumental value throughout the development of early Ruism.

This is the Analects' view of T'ien, but that does not mean that it was Confucius'. To explore the Analects for Confucius' own view requires a different interpretive

method. Even were we to grant that Confucius uttered every statement ascribed to him in the Analects—and we are very far from doing that—the meaning of his

statements could only be brought out by elucidating the situational contexts in which they were uttered, and this level of meaning is quite different from the meaning the

same statements may bear as elements of an edited text.

Many attempts have been made to analyze Confucius' view of T'ien. Fung Yu­lan has made two, and has arrived at different conclusions. In his earlier work, he

concludes that Confucius maintained a conservative position on T'ien, and the T'ien he spoke of was an anthropomorphic ruling god of Chou tradition (1931:82­83).

Later, in the communist period, Fung came to view Confucius as a man whose class standpoint was in transition, and who had consequently moved from a completely

spiritualistic concept of T'ien to one which was predominantly fatalistic (1962:93­97, 102). Another writer who sees Confucius' view of T'ien as a transition between

early and late Chou concepts is Li Tu, a noncommunist writer who stresses that although Confucius' T'ien seems modeled on Chou religious notions, it had evolved

from an aristocratic to a democratic god, whose decrees any man, not just kings, could know (1961:39­41).

Relatively doctrinaire communist writers tend to see a reactionary quality in Confucius' view of T'ien. They see Confucius as using the Chou establishment portrait of

T'ien to legitimize archaic social divisions (Hou 1957: chapter 6; Yang 1973:115­17). T'ien represents an ideal notion of history diametrically opposed to the true

revolutionary direction that history takes (Hou 1957:152).

Those who are less committed to preconceived models of Chinese history differ widely on what Confucius' view was. Ikeda Suetoshi, for instance, argues that

Confucius' view of T'ien not only borrowed Chou religious concepts, but was deeply religious and spiritualistic (1965:4­5). H.G. Creel, on the other hand, interprets

the same material as indicating that Confucius thought of T'ien as "an impersonal ethical force, a cosmic counterpart of the ethical sense in man" (1949:117).

I feel that such interpretations suffer because they do not make a distinction between Confucius' view of T'ien and the Analects'. As a result, all fail to consider

whether the statements attributed to Confucius in the Analects carry philosophical significance when viewed as Confucius' own words. It does not follow that because

Confucius may have uttered a statement

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about T'ien and a disciple recalled it, resulting in its eventual inclusion in a canonical text, that Confucius uttered the statement with canonical intent.

In fact, when we explore the text for Confucius' original teachings about T'ien, we find considerable evidence that it might have been very different from that of the

Analects. It is entirely possible that Confucius avoided including any significant statement about T'ien in his teaching, perhaps regarding metaphysical speculation to be

inimical to the spirit of his philosophy.

The most striking piece of evidence in this regard is the simple fact that the text of the Analects contains so few references to T'ien. Only seventeen of the 500­odd

entries mention T'ien at all. 57 The reticence of the text concerning T'ien may reflect an enduring tradition about Confucius' teaching. As we noted earlier, the text tells

us that "[Confucius'] words concerning man's nature and the Way of T'ien we are not able to hear" (A:5.13).58 A strong tradition that Confucius avoided metaphysical

speculation may have constrained the editors of the Analects, and militated against including in the text late teachings about T'ien that may have been popularly

attributed to Confucius. We will see that the Analects does suggest the plausibility of such an idea.

The Analects includes eleven passages that purport to record remarks Confucius himself made concerning T'ien. Some of these, if taken as accurate records of his

speech, would seem to show that Confucius did express philosophical views about T'ien (e.g., A:2.4, 8.19). But in the majority of cases, when taken in the context of

their narrative content, the passages appear to reflect no more than Confucius' skillful ability to employ traditional religious rhetoric in order to say something about

matters other than T'ien. We would not be warranted in drawing conclusions about Confucius' view of T'ien from such statements. What makes them subjects for

deep analysis is not their content, but their inclusion in a canonical text.

Several passages in the Analects support the notion that whatever his inmost thoughts may have been, Confucius conscientiously avoided entangling his teachings in

religious and metaphysical speculations. The antispiritualist message of these passages is well known. They tell us that Confucius did not generally speak of spirits

(A:7.21, 11.12),59 and when they recount what he did say, his statements sound meticulously agnostic, as when he tells his disciples to "show respect for ghosts and

spirits, but keep them at a distance" (A:6.22). Despite the great value that he placed on the rite of sacrifice (e.g., A:2.5, 3.12),60 Confucius appears sceptical about

the ability of prayer to influence events (A:7.35).

All this is in tune with the early Ruist approach to ritual, which stressed the social and psychological utility of li while adopting a stance of silence or scepticism

concerning the magical efficacy of religious action. Gener­

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ally, the central philosophy of Ruism, as outlined in the last two chapters, forms a complete system without any need to introduce spiritualist or metaphysical

speculation, apart from unexamined teleological assumptions. It cannot be surprising, then, to find evidence that the earliest Ruist teachings avoided entanglements with

issues of that nature.

If we turn to the remarks concerning T'ien that the Analects ascribes to Confucius, we find that the tenor of a majority of these does not conflict with such an attitude.

For example, we are told that once when Confucius was seriously ill, Tzu­lu ordered the disciples to perform tasks appropriate to retainers of a high official.

Confucius, upon learning of this, asked Tzu­lu, "Whom do I deceive by pretending to have retainers when I have none? Do I deceive T'ien?" (A:9.12). Such a remark

merely addresses the foolishness of Tzu­lu's charade. It employs a conventional notion of T'ien as all­knowing in order to make a point—but that point is not that T'ien

is all­knowing. It says nothing about T'ien. 61

A number of the passages we examined earlier are of a similar character. In his response to Wang­sun Chia's proposal (A:3.13), Confucius manipulates the notion of

T'ien as a supreme deity to turn the politician's metaphor back on him.62 When invoking T'ien to swear an oath (A:6.28), Confucius does no more than clothe his

words in appropriate religious garb.63 In bewailing the loss of Yen Yuan (A:11.9), his complaint against T'ien should be considered no more than an expression of

deep grief through mannered sacrilege. Finally, in interpreting the two versions of Confucius' defiant claim of T'ien's protection (A:7.23, 9.5), if they do echo an actual

statement made by Confucius, it was one uttered as a cry of bravado to lift the spirits in the face of great personal danger. It would be as inappropriate to infer

philosophical attitudes from this as to suppose that they indicate that Confucius anticipated the intervention of a deus ex machina or believed himself invulnerable to

physical injury.

This leaves us with five passages that purport to record Confucius' own words about T'ien. At least three seem to carry indubitable philosophical intent (A:2.4, 8.19,

16.8). The other two (A:14.35, 17.17) can be interpreted as philosophical or as playful uses of conventional imagery with about equal cogency 64 I do not wish to

carry this argument too far and impose trivial meanings on philosophically interesting passages. My point is simply this: modern scholars tend to agree that the relation

of the statements attributed to Confucius in the Analects to what Confucius may really have said is problematical. If we hypothesize that some Analects passages are

reasonably accurate records of Confucius' speech while others are late distortions, inventions, or wrong attributions, then it may be significant that slightly more than

one­half of Confucius' statements about T'ien are consistent with the testimony of A:5.13, supported elsewhere in the text, to

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the effect that Confucius excluded metaphysical speculation from his teaching. I feel this view is essentially a correct one, and that the contradictory passages A:2.4,

8.19, and 16.8 are all, almost certainly, late inventions, while of the remaining relevant entries, some might not be. 65

Therefore, I think that without doing unjust violence to the spirit of the Analects, we can propose that T'ien probably performed no significant function in the

philosophy of Confucius. This theory can be supported, although not conclusively, on the basis of the Analects' own evidence. It does not, however, affect the

significance of our earlier model of the Analects' implicit theory of T'ien, which uses the same body of evidence and represents not the thinking of Confucius himself,

but of the collective authors and editors of the text.

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Chapter VTactics of MetaphysicsThe Role of T'ien in the Mencius

We come now to the Mencius, and as we do so, our analysis becomes at once more abstract and more concrete. Abstract because with the Mencius we begin to

encounter developed theories about T'ien, and we have to grapple with the logic of these notions of metaphysics; concrete because unlike the Analects (and the Hsun

Tzu), the text of the Mencius seems firmly tied to the incidents of history, and we are presented the challenge of illustrating the pragmatic instrumentality of

philosophical theory in Mencius' life. Our goal will be to elucidate the doctrinal function of T'ien within the text and to show how these doctrines might have been

practical expressions of Mencius' personal goals and interests as a Ru.

1.

The Nature of the Text

The Mencius 1 might be the only pre­Ch'in text that is essentially what it claims to be: the teachings of a single philosopher.2 There are few evident corruptions or

insertions in the text (Lau 1970:222).3 The doctrines expressed in it are relatively consistent throughout, although they may reflect views that Mencius held at different

times in his life.4

About Mencius himself, not a great deal is known apart from what we learn in the text of the Mencius itself. His dates are not known, but the major incidents of his life

occurred late in the fourth century B. C., and Mencius was apparently considered old at that time.5 Ch'ien Mu has argued that the best evidence points toward a birth

date between 389 and 382 B. C. (1956:187­88).

Mencius is said to have been a native of the small state of Tsou, which bordered on the Ruist homeland of Lu (SC:74.2343). He seems to have trained as a Ru under

an unidentified disciple of Tzu­ssu, Confucius' grandson, who had in turn studied under the great original disciple Tseng Shen.6

We know nothing of Mencius' early career.7 Judging by the honors accorded him during the travels of his late years, he must have gained a considerable reputation as

a Ruist Master in Shantung before setting out on his journeys.

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Some time prior to 320 B.C., at the age of perhaps sixty, Mencius reached the conclusion that the times were ripe for the appearance of a new Sage King, who would

unify China under ethical rule as had the Ruist heroes Yao, Shun, and the founders of the Shang and Chou Dynasties. Mencius—and presumably other Ru of his

time—claimed that the idealistic political doctrines of Ruism were no more than the ethical policies of these great rulers of the past.

Confident of his own mastery of these policies, Mencius set out to find an existing feudal ruler whom he could convert into a Sage King by instructing him in their

implementation. For a period of fifteen years or so, Mencius traveled from court to court in pursuit of his new King. 8 The high point of his career came during a stay in

Ch'i c.317­312 B.C., where he was honored as a high minister (ch'ingb). This official post—as far as we know the only one he ever held—he soon resigned on

principle. After leaving Ch'i, Mencius probably retired from his wandering career.9

The Shih­chi tells us that Mencius himself, aided by disciples, composed the text of the Mencius (SC:74.2343). While many traditional scholars have accepted this

view (MTCY:7), modern scholarship tends to view the text as the work of disciples after Mencius' death, based on their experiences traveling with their Master and on

his teachings in retirement (Lau 1970:220­22).10 The work is in seven books, and stylistic differences among the books may suggest independent authorship. For

example, in Book 2, which may have been written by the disciple Kung­sun Ch'ou, the King (or Kings) of Ch'i are referred to only as ''the King," whereas in other

books, kings and other rulers are generally referred to by their posthumous titles.11 This may indicate that the book was completed earlier than the other books. The

Shih­chi account of Mencius' life says that after the collapse of his political mission, Mencius retired with a group of disciples. Perhaps Kung­sun Ch'ou did not join

Mencius in retirement, but wrote Book 2 independently of the other disciples, completing it before the other books were edited into their present form (we will return

to this point later in this chapter). We should note also that the Mencius divides rather well into two halves. Through Book 3, the text seems to place most statements

in the context of Mencius' travels. The later books are written in a style closer to that of the Analects, and generally present statements outside of their historical

context.12 The division will help guide the organization of this chapter. As we discuss the role of T'ien in the Mencius, we will make a clear distinction between the

instrumental functions that statements concerning T'ien may have had with regard to Mencius' political mission, and the functions that they may have had with regard to

the doctrines and practice that typified the Mencian study group as a branch of the Ruist community.

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Our analytic procedure for this chapter will be somewhat different from that of the last, and, as indicated above, it will take its cue from the divided interests of the text

itself. In order to trace the instrumental function that statements concerning T'ien may have performed, we will discuss separately the role of T'ien in Mencius' political

statements—a role we will conclude to have been minor—and the important role T'ien plays in Mencius' more theoretical statements, concerning the nature of man

and man's place in the universe. In the case of Mencius' political statements, their instrumental functions will be related to his political goals, and they are rather

straightforward. The instrumental functions of relevant theoretical statements are not, however, so simply traced. Devising a model to illuminate them will occupy most

of this chapter.

The complexity of this latter analysis is what has prompted the division of political and theoretical interests we will employ here. The main purpose of the division is to

winnow out references to T'ien in a political context that might otherwise unnecessarily complicate or confuse our more difficult problem. For the sake of clarity, then,

we will outline the major analytic themes of this chapter after first discussing rather summarily the role of T'ien in Mencius' political doctrines.

2.

The Role of T'ien in Mencius' Political Doctrines and Career

The key to understanding the role of T'ien in Mencius' political doctrines is to bear in mind that its role was marginal and of little intrinsic importance to the doctrines

themselves or to Mencius' concrete political goals. Because Mencius' attention was not focused on articulating a consistent theory of T'ien in this regard, the meaning

of T'ien in relevant statements varies with particular fluidity according to the instrumental context in which T'ien was discussed.

The heart of Mencius' political theory, in my view, lay in his idealistic populism, and the belief that the proper function of political leaders and institutions was to serve

the needs and interests of the people (e.g., M:1A.7, 1B. 1, 3A.3, 7B. 14). Mencius elaborated this praiseworthy ethical bias with an important predictive corollary:

the ruler who demonstrates in action his commitment to these principles will quickly receive the support of all the peoples of the empire (e.g., 1A.3, 2A.3, 2A.5). He

will rule as the successor to the Kings of Chou. Hence, Mencius' brand of humane government was "right" both ethically and politically.

It may be that many Ruists held political views similar to Mencius'. 13 What made Mencius famous was not so much his views as his energetic search for a ruler who

would adopt them. In this, he was somewhat unusual, given the tendency of early Ruism to opt for political withdrawal.

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What seems to have motivated Mencius to pursue concrete political goals as he did was a belief in a type of millennial prophecy and a conviction that the millennium

was imminent.

Apparently, in Mencius' time there was a widespread belief that dynastic rule was a cyclical process that obeyed set rules of timing. The Tso­chuan recounts how the

second ruler of the Chou divined about the length of his dynasty's mandate to rule, and learned that it had been allotted a term of 700 years (Hsuan 3:10.20). Mencius,

who lived at the expiration of this term, thought that the normal cycle called for five centuries between the rise of Sage Kings. 14 In his view, "According to calculations

the term is past, and if we judge by the times, they are ripe for it" (M:2B.13).

The pivot of Mencius' decision to pursue political action probably lies in the phrase "the times are ripe." "Time" (shih) is an important word in the Mencius; it refers to

the Ruist doctrine of "timeliness," which meant accepting political responsibilities only when they presented true moral opportunities (M:5B.1). Because Warring States

governments were universally corrupt, they were not viewed as presenting moral opportunities for political action. As we saw earlier, the Analects makes clear that for

early Ruism, the doctrine of timeliness meant withdrawal from politics; the times doomed ethical activism to failure.15

When Mencius says that "the times are ripe," he is saying that the rules have changed. Even though governments remain immoral, the desperate state that society has

reached, viewed through the expectations of the millennial rise of the new King, creates a unique type of moral opportunity: "With half the effort of the men of old, their

achievements can be doubled" (M:2A.1). This was Ruism's great chance: a time so desperate that an old man such as Mencius, without, so far as we know, a shred of

political experience, might expect to transform the world. It was with this belief that Mencius breached the political passivity of Ruism and set out to find among the

rulers of his day the one who would adopt Mencian policies and fulfill prophecy.

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To understand the small role that T'ien played in Mencius' political "persuasions" to rulers and in the political theory that underlay them, we must again distinguish

between the prescriptive and descriptive roles that were ascribed to T'ien.16 It is in the shifts between the two dimensions that the pragmatic basis of statements about

T'ien becomes clear.*

* The terms "prescriptive" and "descriptive" occur frequently in the discussion below, and it may be helpful to restate the sense in which they are used. "Prescriptive" uses of

T'ien include passages where T'ien is invoked to urge imperatives for future action. "Descriptive" uses are those in which T'ien is invoked to explain past events. The two

dimensions diverge because the former suggests a T'ien that is freely ethical, while in the latter case, T'ien's ethical image is fettered by the moral ambiguities of events as they

have actually occurred.

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The prescriptive aspect of T'ien in this regard is quite simple. T'ien is manifest in humane government in accord with Mencius' policies. The ruler who adopts these

policies will find the people of surrounding states flocking to his domain. "He will have no enemy in the world. He who has no enemy in the world is the agent of T'ien.

Never has there been such a one who has not ruled as true King" (M:2A.5). 17 Note that in this formula, T'ien plays no active role. The humane ruler is T'ien's agent,

but his political success is adequately explained by the virtue of his policies and the consequence that he ceases to have enemies. No barriers would then remain

between him and the Imperial throne that would require the intervention of a transcendent power. T'ien's role is passive; it adds nothing to the power of virtue.

T'ien is prescriptive in that it approves of or is manifest in ethical government. But T'ien also has a descriptive aspect. The two contrasting dimensions of T'ien are

evident in another passage, which purports to record Mencius' words to the ruler of the great state of Ch'i.

Only a ruler who is jen is able to render service to states smaller than his own. . . . Only a ruler who is wise is able to render service to states greater than his own. . . . To serve a

state smaller than one's own is to take joy in T'ien; to serve a state larger than one's own is to hold T'ien in awe. He who takes joy in T'ien will protect the world [i.e., rule as King];

he who holds T'ien in awe will protect his state (M:1B.3).

The phrases omitted here cite historical examples, and these make it clear that the two uses of "render service" (shihb) are not at all equivalent. The powerful ruler

merely honors states weaker than his; the weak ruler propitiates states stronger than his.18

Consequently, the two uses of "t'ien" are not equivalent. In the case of the strong ruler, who acts ethically even though not forced to do so, "t'ien" represents the

prescripts of jen, one of which is honoring the weak. But for the ruler of a small state, "t'ien" represents the descriptive position of being under the sword of the

mighty. For the ruler of the strong state, T'ien is the ethical opportunity to earn the throne. For the ruler of a weak state, T'ien is the threat of annihilation without regard

to ethical effort.

This distinction between two entirely different T'iens, one T'ien seen from the perspective of political strength, the other seen from the perspective of weakness, reveals

the pragmatic nature of the role of T'ien in Mencius' political thought. Mencius' political metaphysics recognizes political reality and does not challenge it. Mencius felt

that political realities were such that if a strong state such as Ch'i were to adopt his program, it would rapidly be able to unify China under moral government.19 He

was anxious to put his programs to a crucial test in Ch'i, and so in lecturing the ruler of Ch'i he could picture T'ien as prescriptive. He urges the ruler to take as his

model King Wu, who founded the Chou Dynasty by conquest, and, quoting

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the Documents, he pictures King Wu as T'ien's appointed agent on earth. 20 But when speaking to the young ruler of the tiny state of T'eng—perhaps the only ruler

who ever seriously considered adopting Mencius' programs—Mencius suggests a different model and describes a different T'ien:

Duke Wen of T'eng asked, "Ch'i is about to fortify Hsueh, and I am deeply alarmed. How should I deal with this?" Mencius replied, "At one time, King T'ai ruled in Pin. When it

was invaded by the Ti tribes, he quit Pin and moved to live beneath Mt. Ch'i. This was not by choice but from necessity. If one does what is good, surely there will be some among

one's descendants who will rule as true Kings. The chün­tzu initiates the task and lays down guidelines that it may be carried on. As for its success, that is with T'ien. What

should you do about Ch'i? Strive to do good, that is all (M:1B.14).

King T'ai was the great­grandfather of King Wu, founder of the Chou. By prescribing him as a model for the Duke, Mencius has effectively removed from immediate

view the consequences which, in theory, he predicts his programs will have if adopted by a feudal ruler. The T'ien of this passage is entirely descriptive. Mencius

makes no claim that T'ien will aid the Duke if he practices virtue, and so steers clear of any hint that his social programs will work wonders that he knows to be

politically impossible. Mencius interpreted prophecy within the bounds of reason, and he does not expect any more of T'ien than he expects of human political effort.21

M:1B.3 and 1B.14 are the only instances where Mencius discusses T'ien with rulers or other political actors, and this illustrates the minor role that T'ien played in

Mencius' practical political rhetoric. Judging from them, T'ien represents political realities as Mencius saw them: prescriptive opportunities for the strong, descriptive

perils for the weak. In this sense, T'ien is reduced to Mencius' view of practical reality—we could say that it disappears in the interplay between Mencius' prescriptive

program and the descriptive social conditions under which he sought to put it to a test.

Two important passages remain which, although they record Mencius' political ideas in the context of his theoretical teachings rather than in the context of his political

quest, we may profit by considering here. The passages show us Mencius' ideas about the general relation of T'ien to the office of Kingship, and they are of interest

because they illustrate that even in theory Mencius was attached to no firm view of T'ien that would distinguish it from political realities.

The two passages are contiguous and both contain Mencius' comments about legends concerning the Sage Kings Yao, Shun, and Yü.22 The first two of these Kings

were said to have passed on their throne to an extralineal successor, rather than to their sons, and in M:5A.5, the disciple Wan Chang questions Mencius about this.

Mencius replies that the transmission of the throne depends not on the ruler's whim, but on T'ien.

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Wan Chang responds to this by asking what it means in practical terms. "Does T'ien [transfer the throne] through explicit decree?" "No," replies Mencius, "T'ien does

not speak; it manifests its decree through action and event." Mencius proceeds to describe what this involves, and as he does so, T'ien once again seems to disappear

into descriptive political realities.

Mencius begins by telling Wan Chang that before a ruler can pass the throne to a chosen successor, that successor must be approved first by T'ien—which means that

the spirits accept his sacrifices—and second by the people, who may submit to his rule. 23 This appears to give T'ien a very minor role indeed: not T'ien but the people

seem to be the crucial factor. But as the discussion proceeds, Mencius seems to ascribe both the spirits' approval and the people's to T'ien.24 In the end, it seems to

be T'ien alone that bestows the throne, but it is also true that "T'ien sees through the sight of my people; T'ien hears through the hearing of my people."25

In the course of this single passage, Mencius employs three different notions of T'ien: T'ien is a single purposive deity; it is functionally the sum of all the spirits; it is the

collective will of the people. Clearly what he is trying to do is to identify the notion of a purposive deity with descriptive political realities, and he is willing to recast the

image of T'ien in any way that will help him to do so. His fixed philosophical point seems to be to legitimize the will of the people through historical precedent. His

"concept" of T'ien must be flexible enough to allow this.

In M:5A.6 this highly descriptive view of T'ien is broadened to legitimize the Chou tradition of hereditary political office, a position that seems in some ways

contradictory to the populism of M:5A.5. Wan Chang opens the passage by citing those who say that the golden age of the Kingship ended with Yü, who passed his

throne to his son rather than to a worthy. Mencius proceeds to argue why this view is incorrect. All royal successions, he claims, are guided by T'ien, and he explains

apparent ethical anomalies in T'ien's descriptive action by matching them to a series of nonintuitive rules. Why did Confucius not become King? It is a rule that the

reigning King must recommend his successor to T'ien; Confucius lacked this recommendation.26 Who did the great ministers of the various dynastic founders fail to

become Kings? It is a rule that unless an heir apparent is as wicked as were Chieh and Chou—historical heirs who were, in fact, deposed—T'ien will not depose him.

By these arguments, Mencius manages to bring the prescriptive notion of the "Mandate of Heaven" in line with descriptive history. Both T'ien and the Mandate are

portrayed in completely descriptive terms: "What is done without anyone doing it is T'ien; what comes without anyone bestowing it is the Mandate (ming)."27 Once

again, T'ien is reduced to descriptive political realities.

M:5A.5 and 5A.6 show Mencius elaborating theories of history that rationalize his populist political theories and an acceptance of the existing insti­

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tutions of hereditary privilege. Mencius' motives for doing this are not explicit in the passages, but they are not, perhaps, unimaginable. 28 But what is significant for us

is that in these passages, as in those discussed earlier, T'ien is not a stable concept but a chameleon­like notion that resembles nothing more than a convenient

rhetorical device. To construct from these passages a theory of T'ien would be to misunderstand their import; the resulting theory would be a shapeless grouping of

conflicting ideas. What is intriguing about the passages is precisely that they are governed by no theory of T'ien at all. T'ien had little to contribute to Mencius' political

ideas other than to be available as a piece of rhetoric to help Mencius express those ideas however he could.

3.

The Mencian Theory of T'ien: Human Nature and the Personal Decree

The remainder of this chapter will be devoted to a discussion of the role of T'ien in that portion of Mencius' teachings primarily directed toward issues of personal

values and conduct, rather than toward Mencius' political activities. All but a few of the passages we will discuss here are found in the second, more theoretical half of

the text, and deal with issues of greater philosophical generality than the discussions of kingship analyzed in the last section.

Our project will be to locate the role of T'ien in the web of theories that comprise Mencius' general ethical philosophy and to explore how those doctrines and T'ien

related to Ruism as Mencius and his disciples practiced it. To do this, however, we must be able to describe in some detail what we take the Mencian practice of

Ruism to have been, and here we encounter a problem that will be the starting point of our discussion: the Mencius itself provides very few clues as to what that

practice was. Although we know that Mencius traveled with an impressive retinue of disciples (M:3B.4), we know almost nothing about who they were or what they

did.29

In chapter II we presented a portrait of the early Ruist community as a group of men primarily occupied with the study and practice of li. But the Mencius is

remarkably reticent about li. It is not discussed nearly as often as we might expect, and more important, the claim that the study of li is the path to Sagehood is simply

not made in the text. It is not that the Mencius does not claim the existence of a totalistic level of understanding. It makes this claim far more explicitly than does the

Analects, in statements such as: "The world of things is complete in me" (M:7A4); "There is nothing that the wise do not know" (M:7A.46); "Whatever the chün­tzu

passes is transformed; what he nourishes is spirit­power (shen); above and below he flows in a single current with T'ien and earth" (M:7A.13), as well as in a number

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of other formulas (see, e.g., M:2A.2, 4B.13, 7B.25). 30 But the genetic linkage of li to this perfection of mind is unclear at best.

In our discussion here, we will begin by trying to learn more about Mencian practice by exploring this changed role of li. We will conclude that this change was

primarily a change in rhetoric rather than a change in practice, and that the Mencian practice of Ruism is unlikely to have differed greatly from the model of mainstream

Ruist practice outlined in chapter II. We will argue that the major problems facing Ruism as a sect during Mencius' time were attacks mounted against it by the

competing schools of Mohism and Taoism, which ridiculed the Ruist obsession with li and the claim that the practice of an ethically relative code of behavior­ritual­

could generate an absolute category of mind: Sagehood. Sensitivity to issues such as these, particularly as they were raised by the analytically oriented Mohist school,

dictated that Mencius supplement the synthetic structure of Ruist teachings with rationalizing arguments that could relieve li of its analytically unsupported role at the

center of the quest for Sagehood. In the context of fourth century B.C. polemics, Ruism needed to develop analytically defensible doctrines that could remove from li

the theoretical burden of engendering the Sagely totalism, but which would not interfere with its practical role at the center of Ruist education.

The new structure that Mencius created is the pivot of his ethical philosophy: his portrait of the universal ethical potential of the human mind. The first outlines of this

portrait were probably sketched early in Mencius' career. They are visible in his persuasions of rulers, and help explain the particular nature of his millennial

expectations. When these ideas evolved into their ultimate formulation as Mencius' doctrine of the innate goodness of the hsing, or human nature, this portrait became

a new framework into which li could be integrated as a universal category of mind, rather than as the ritual code of a particular dynasty.

We will discuss this reformulation of li as a category of mind in terms of the twin doctrines of the "internality of righteousness" (yi tsai nei) and the innateness of the

"four sprouts" (ssu tuan).

Having linked the practical Ruist interest in ritual to the theory of the goodness of human nature, we will discuss the notion of the good hsing as a prescriptive concept,

representing essentially the same totalistic ideal as that denoted in the Analects by "jen." Because the hsing is directly tied to T'ien in the Mencius, T'ien becomes—

as in the Analects—the prescriptive basis of both the totalistic ideal and the path of li.

Also as in the Analects, the conflicts between normative ethics and empirical experience create tensions in the meaning of T'ien. These are expressed in the Mencius

through the twin doctrines of the good hsing and the personal decree (ming), both of which are tied to T'ien. We will see that these

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two related doctrines are complementary facets of the bifurcated doctrine of Ruism: the T'ien­engendered hsing prescribing the action of ritual self­cultivation, and the

T'ien­ordained ming explaining the failure of political action and rationalizing persistence in ritual ethical conduct.

3.1.

Mencius and Li

If the Analects and Hsun Tzu did not exist as standards of comparison, we might feel that the Mencius does, indeed, give an important role to li. The word itself

appears often enough. It is included among the four cardinal virtues formulated by Mencius (M:2A.6, 6A6). 31 It is an aspect of Mencius' idealized portrait of

Confucius (M:5A8). Mencius himself shows a preoccupation with rationalizing his sometimes peculiar behavior by reconciling it with li (e.g., M:2B.2). But when we

compare the Mencius with the Analects and the Hsun Tzu, we cannot help but be struck by the absence of any claim that the practice of li is the path to Sagehood.

Because of this distinction between the Mencius and other important early Ruist texts, there has been a conception of pre­Ch'in Ruism as fundamentally divided into

two traditions. The tradition to which Mencius belonged is seen as rejecting the pedantry that overconcentration on ritual detail generated, becoming increasingly

oriented towards subjective contemplation. This tradition is sometimes viewed as culminating in the two Li­chi texts Ta­hsueh and Chung­yung, both of which are

generally associated with the Mencian school of thought.32 Contrary to this Mencian school stood a tradition sometimes epitomized by Hsun Tzu, with his great stress

on the importance of scrupulous study of ritual and ceremony.33

This model has several problems. For example, it cannot account for important passages in the Hsun Tzu that are similar to those in the "Mencian" works that seem to

point to an abandonment of ii in favor of more "mystical" contemplation.34 Nor can it explain the fact that extant textual traditions concerning the great Masters of

Mencius' school feature a general preoccupation with ritual, particularly with funeral rites.35

But the most important problem with this model of two schools divided on the importance of li practice is that it offers us no insight into the concrete practice of

Mencian Ruism. Mencius, as with Confucius and Hsun Tzu, was a teacher with disciples who studied and traveled with him for many years. We can infer from the

Analects and the Hsun Tzu that the syllabus they reflect consisted largely of the daily practice of various ritual skills: speech, song, instruments, dance, and so forth.

But if the Mencian school did not stress this sort of practice, what did Mencius and his disciples do with their time? What did Mencius teach? If we rely on the "two­

schools" model, we are left only with the old answers of textual exegesis and moral discussion, plus a sense of some vague meditational component never directly

described.

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The two­schools model seems inadequate. 36 But if we reject it and maintain that li practice was for Mencius, as for other Ruist Masters, the core of his education

syllabus, we are still faced with the task of accounting for the peculiarly small role accorded to li in the text of the Mencius. I think that we have to approach this

problem by examining the position in which Ruism found itself at the time that the text was compiled. If we do, we will find that the tendency of the Mencius to stress

theory and metaphysics rather than practical issues of education may simply reflect the fact that the text was written primarily to provide tools for sectarian disputation,

rather than to instruct disciples in self­cultivation.

In Mencius' day, the new competing schools of Taoism and Mohism were reaching the zenith of their early development and were launching vigorous attacks upon the

early established Ruist school.37 A primary target of their attacks was the role of li in Ruism.38 The philosophically embattled state of Ruism in Mencius' time is not

only specifically noted in the Mencius (M:3B.9, 7B.26), but is evident in the composition of the text itself.

The Mencius is distinguished among Ruist texts by its stridently polemical style39 While the Analects seems designed to serve as a primer in Ruist self­cultivation, the

Mencius contains little concrete instruction for disciples, relative to its bulk. The greater part of the text is devoted to arguments used to debate and persuade

"outsiders"—kings nobles, and philosophical disputants—rather than to instruct "insiders." It does not reflect the practice of Mencius and his disciples. Although

Mencius' featureless disciples do occasionally appear and question Mencius, their questions seem designed to present Mencius with rhetorical opportunities to

rationalize apparent contradictions in his doctrines or actions. The theme of the Mencius text is argument rather than instruction and the spirit of the text is defensive.

Its most evident raison d'être is to provide disciples with arguments and debating techniques to use against those who would attack Ruism, and with the doctrines that

Mencius developed to defend it.

In accord with its defensive nature, the Mencius seems to have been compiled in such a way as to downplay the single most vulnerable aspect of Ruism as a

philosophy: its claim that the relative cultural forms of li could generate a universal category of mind:jen, or the totalistic wisdom of the Sage. In the Mencius, we miss

the linkage between li and the totalism. At the same time, we do not find any new practical linkage, but only abstract theories that make T'ien, as god or Nature, the

basis for the totalism.

The failure of the two­schools model, the disputatious spirit of the Mencius as a text, and the absence of any alternate path to the Sagely totalism that the Mencius

clearly envisions, all suggest that the diminished role of li in the text does not reflect any fundamental divergence of Mencian practice from the model of mainstream

Ruist practice presented in chapter II, but reflects instead a change in rhetoric dictated by the sectarian interests of the text.

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Mencius' Opponents

A brief note is called for here to explain how I intend to discuss the effects of outside attacks on Mencian Ruism. The Mencius itself indicates in three places that the

enemies of Ruism, as perceived by Mencius, were the schools of Mo Tzu and Yang Chu (M:3B.9 7A.26, 7B.26). A. C. Graham has written a superbly argued

analysis of Mencius' doctrine of human nature seen in response to an individualist doctrine of hsing, which Graham attributes to Yang Chu (1967). 40 In his article,

Graham reconstructs the philosophy of Yang Chu, whose original writings have long since perished. Now, if Graham's view were granted, little would be left to be said

on the issue, but I feel that it contains so many unresolved problems and depends upon so many contingent issues that it cannot now be accepted in its entirety.41 My

view is that the essential nature of Mencius' position on the hsing lies in that position's responsiveness to Taoist, and more particularly Mohist ideas, which did not

involve a theory of hsing at all.

In the following pages, I will portray Mencius' theory of human nature solely in terms of the Mohist challenge. I do believe that Taoist ideas may have contributed to its

creation, but I feel that to explore their possible role would add little to the elucidation of the import of Mencius' doctrines, and would only make this essay somewhat

redundant.

The Mohist Challenge

There is a tradition preserved in the Huai­nan Tzu that Mo Tzu was a Ruist disciple who became disgruntled with the pedantry and wastefulness of Ruist li practice.

We are told that he rejected the ethical authority of Chou Dynasty institutions, and traced his doctrine to the Emperor Yü, founder of the first dynasty, the Hsia

(HNT:21.7a).

Whether or not this tale has any factual basis, it captures an important truth about Mohism. The threat that Mohism posed to Ruism stemmed largely from the fact that

Mohism coopted substantial portions of Ruist doctrine, assimilating many of Ruism's most appealing ideas in order to attack its weaker aspects. Most significant was

the Mohist adaptation of the Ruist terms ''jen" and "yi."42 By using these terms, Mohism borrowed their rhetorical authority, but significantly altered their meanings.

"Jen," for example, does not denote a holistic virtue of mind in the Mo Tzu; it denotes "compassion," a restricted meaning that excludes any necessary entailment with

li. "Yi" is used much as it is in the Analects,43 but with one important difference, which applies to jen as well. In the Mo Tzu, jen and yi are considered ethically

universal, as they are in the Analects. They are ethically universal because they are always good. But they are not ethical absolutes as they are in the Analects. Their

goodness is not intrinsic, but is derived

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from their function in promoting an absolute standard—lib: "welfare" or "profit." 44 For the Mo Tzu, it is human welfare that is intrinsically good ;jen and yi are of value

in that they help society maximize lib. This utilitarian criterion is Mohism's most distinctive feature. It is significant that lib, as an absolute standard, can never be

necessarily entailed with a relative cultural form such as ritual li. For Ruism, the functional import of its ideology was to make jen and yi dependent on the practical

action standard of ritual li. Mohism set against this an entailment of jen and yi with the absolute and abstract standard of maximized welfare. It makes sense that the

Huai­nan Tzu portrays Mo Tzu as consciously removing his historical authority from the particular and limited Chou Dynasty to the ultimately prior and abstract

Hsia.45

Armed with the borrowed sanctity of these key terms, using the Ruist method of relying on agreeable texts of questionable antiquity to legitimize their ideas, the

Mohists organized into cohesive cults rivaling the Ruists. They were distinguished by their devotion to training in the martial arts and in crafts applicable to defensive

warfare, and also by their ascetic practices.46 Although they challenged Ruism in many ways, the favored method was to ridicule the role that li played in Ruist

doctrine and practice, as is most evident in the Fei Ju, Chieh tsang, and Kung Meng chapters of the Mo Tzu.

Now, I do not mean to picture early philosophers debating the cultural relativity of li. The issue was not generally articulated in this way. For non­Ru, like the Mohists,

the notion of ritual li was simply not in the same category of philosophical importance as universals like jen and yi. Its cultural—or rather dynastic—relativity was

known to all (see, e.g., A:2.23, 3.9). Only Ruism elected to raise ritual to philosophical significance, and its position was theoretically tenuous intrinsically. (One can

imagine how untenable a philosophy of propriety would have been in the Western tradition.)

The philosophical difference between the Ruist valuation of ritual li and value standards adopted by Mohism is well illustrated in the following passage, where a Ruist

who is probably a caricature of Mencius is satirized for his ethical commitment to the relative value of Chou ritual:

Kung Meng Tzu said: "Only if the chün­tzu speaks the ancient words and dresses in ancient costume can he be jen." Master Mo Tzu replied: "In the past, the Shang King Chou

and his minister Pi Chung were the worst tyrants in the world; Chi Tzu and Wei Tzu were the greatest Sages. They all spoke the same tongue, but some were jen and others not.

Tan, Duke of Chou was a Sage and Kuan Shu a tyrant. They wore the same dress, but one was jen, the other not. Hence jen does not lie in wearing ancient costume or uttering

ancient words. Moreover, you do not even emulate the Hsia, but rather the Chou—your "ancient" is not really ancient at all!'' (MT Kung Meng: 12.10b).47

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The issue of universality of standards was a crucial one for the Mohists, whose case for their own utilitarianism rests heavily upon asserting its universal applicability.

Their position is clearly demonstrated by the parable of the creation of government in the Shang­t'ung chapters of the Mo Tzu. In this parable, man's original "state of

nature" is portrayed as one of complete value relativity. The creation of society is described as the elimination of value relativity under a government ordered according

to principles of T'ien­ordained utilitarianism. 48

Thus, the Mohists rested their case on the intuitive universality of the abstract utilitarian value of maximizing human welfare, or profit. This philosophical presupposition

was a powerful challenge to Ruist practice and ideology. Ruist theory was saddled with the demand to justify the value of particular, culturally relative forms of ritual

behavior—forms that were largely outdated and unpopular. This philosophical challenge was formidable indeed.

From its opening passage, which attacks the standard of "profit," the Mencius is preoccupied with undermining the Mohist position. But frontal attack is by no means

its most important response to the Mohist challenge. Instead, an intricate reformulation of Ruist ideas, which deemphasized the importance of concrete li practice in

favor of a new emphasis on the term "yi," borrowed back from the Mohists, provided the main line of defense.

The Meaning of "Yi" in the Mencius

The word "yi," "right" or ''righteousness," plays a limited role in the Analects. It denotes an ambiguous ethical value, assigned to character, actions, or situations. It is

not consistently linked with any other ethical term, such as "jen" or "li." The situation is very different in the Mencius. There "yi" has become the single most

important ethical term, outstripping in frequency of use both "jen" and "li." We find "yi" regularly linked in compound ethical phrases such as "jen­yi" and "li­yi." In

addition, the term carries new and important meanings.

The expanded role of "yi" complements the reduced role of "li," and this is a key to understanding one of its new meanings. In many instances, we find that "yi" is

functionally equivalent to "li." Its primary role in the Mencius is as a universal abstraction of li.49"Yi" shares with "li" the meaning of "what is right to do," but it is not

limited by reference to Chou codes of conduct, and so appears to have a universal sense, as opposed to the restricted sense of "li." In its actual function, however,

the term "yi" often comes to be subjected to much the same limits as "li." The way in which the text accomplishes this is to select as a prototypical example of yi a

basic form of ceremonial behavior stressed in Chou li: deference to elders.

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The Mencius develops the following formulas as its most consistent definition of "yi": "Love of parents is jen; respect for elders is yi" (M:7A.15); "Service to parents

is the realization of jen; deference to elders is the realization of yi'' (M:4A.27, cf. 1A.4, 1A.7). When engaged in close analysis of behavior according to yi, the

examples raised are not issues of universal moral import, but are all issues of ceremonial proprieties (M:6A.5). In this way, the text repeatedly reveals a practical

equivalence between "yi" and "li," and we will see in the next section how this role of yi is crucial to the famous debate between Mencius and the philosopher Kao

Tzu over the nature of man.

The Mencius, then, presents a frontline defense against Mohism by means of a simple rhetorical device. It has, as with the Mo Tzu, greatly increased the importance of

the term "yi," which in the Mo Tzu is a universal standard often inimical to ritual li. But the Mencius has also implicitly submerged the concept of li within the term

"yi," in a way similar to that with which the term "proper" can be integrated into the term "right." 50 Specific instances of li behavior are thus analytically legitimate.

Before we turn to see the application of this to the Mencian doctrine of human nature, it is interesting to note one instance in which it relates to the way in which the

Ruist totalism is discussed in the Mencius.

Perhaps the most poetic expression of the holistic consciousness that Ruism idealized is Mencius' discussion of the "flood­like energy" (hao­jan chih ch'i) (M:2A.2).

Interpretations of this passage have frequently portrayed the "flood­like energy" as a semimystical force of mind, cultivated in some unstated, esoteric way (Chan

1963:63). Actually, Mencius tells us very clearly how it is cultivated: "It arises from the interweaving of many acts of yi; it cannot be grasped by putting yi on like a suit

of clothes."51 Bearing in mind the close linkage of yi and li in the text, the path to the flood­like energy does not appear far removed from the mainstream Ruist path to

Sagehood: mastery of the ritual syllabus and identification of self and ritual norms. The flood­like energy seems to be very close to the totalistic ideal. Like the

comprehension of Sagehood, "it fills all between heaven and earth," and similar to the portrait of jen emerging from the Analects, it is cultivated through ritual

practice.52 In concrete terms, li, rather than the more abstract yi, would be the basis of the energy. But consider the advantages of the Mencian formula! Compare,

for example, the following two English sentences, and the force of the Mencian reformulation will become clear: "By ceremony, I build my inner power"; "By

righteousness, I build my inner power."

In sum, the defensive nature of the Mencius, its responsiveness to the Mohist challenge, and the frequent functional equivalence of yi and li adequately explain the

diminished role of li in the text. Because the Mencius

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does not point to any pursuits that could have replaced the dominant role of li, we have no reason to doubt that the cultic activities of Mencian Ruism conformed to the

general model presented in chapter II.

3.2.

The Mencian Theory of Human Nature

Mencius' description of the flood­like energy leads him, in the original text, to pause for a brief attack on the philosopher Kao Tzu, whose concept of yi differed from

Mencius'. The debates between Mencius and Kao Tzu, as they appear in the Mencius, will form the starting point of the next phase of our discussion here, an

examination of Mencius' doctrine that human nature (hsing) is good. That doctrine can actually be analyzed into three separate elements, and we will discuss each in

turn. The three elements are these: First, the assertion that "yi is internal," which makes li a universal category of mind, thus refuting the Mohist attack on li as a relative

phenomenon. Second, the theory of the "four sprouts" (ssu tuan), which served to legitimize the messianic convictions that motivated Mencius' personal political

ambitions. This doctrine required a diminution in the scope of the concept of jen, leaving the Ruist totalism without any designating term. Finally, the prescriptive notion

of hsing, which we will find to be a reconstruction of the Ruist totalism as a universal category of human ethical potential.

The Debate with Kao Tzu

Although Mencius is probably best known for his doctrine that human nature is good, that doctrine is asserted formally in only one section of one chapter of the

Mencius: the first eight entries of the Kao Tzu chapter (M:6A.1­8). 53 These entries describe a debate between Mencius and Kao Tzu, a philosopher about whom

we know practically nothing. Kao Tzu was almost certainly a Ru,54 and he was probably senior to Mencius.55 He held a doctrine that jen was a virtue of mind, while

yi was a characteristic of external circumstances. His position on jen was clearly directed against Mohism. As noted earlier, Mohism made jen reducible to welfare

(lib) thus placing the locus of jen outside the individual. Mohism needed this theory in order to accommodate its doctrine of "universal love," which required that

feelings of jen be extendable without limit. Kao Tzu argued that jen could not be extended in that way because it was a spontaneous response of mind; it could never

be consciously redirected to accord with an external criterion (M:6A.4). Having developed the theory that jen was "internal," Kao Tzu rounded it out by concluding

that yi was "external," that is to say, the locus of "right" lies in public standards or situations and not in a moral faculty of mind. Kao Tzu's position on yi was probably

intended primarily to underscore his position on jen by contrast.56

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Kao Tzu's ideas, while suitable for attacking certain Mohist claims, leave Ruism as vulnerable as ever on the issue of li, and this appears to be the reason that Mencius

felt obliged to refute him.

The first reference to Kao Tzu in the Mencius occurs during the discussion of the flood­like energy. After making his remarks about the way in which this energy is

cultivated through the accumulation of yi, Mencius adds, "That is why I say that Kao Tzu does not understand yi: because he externalizes it" (M:2A.2). What Mencius

is trying to do is to take yi—now incorporating li—and make it a universal category of mind, a faculty possessed by all men. In this way, he will be able to refute the

Mohist attack on li.

The debate with Kao Tzu, which appears later in the book, is on precisely this issue. 57 Despite the fame of this debate over hsing, the four passages where Mencius

and Kao Tzu argue face­to­face are not very informative about what their conceptions of hsing actually were. These passages seem primarily intended to demonstrate

the use of logic and rhetoric, and they were probably studied by disciples learning how to refute attacks on Mencius' doctrine.58 Of these four passages, the first three

need not concern us here. They are actually arguments over the logical consistency of analogies and syllogisms that Kao Tzu chooses to express his view that hsing is

morally neutral. The substance of his view is never touched upon.59

The fourth passage is somewhat different. Its topic is the following statement by Kao Tzu: "Appetites and lusts are hsing. Jen is internal, not external; yi is external, not

internal." The debate then proceeds upon the issue of the internality of yi. No further mention is made of hsing (M:6A.4).

The passage following this one shows Mencius coaching a pupil on the way to refute the doctrine that yi is external. The illustrative examples of what yi is are these:

the proper treatment of elders; order of precedence in serving wine to elders; the priority of respect according to ceremonial role at sacrifices over respect according

to age (M:6A.5). All these are issues of li. Mencius' point is that behavior according to li is actually dictated by a moral faculty of mind, expressed spontaneously in

feelings of respect and deference.

These five entries form the first part of the Mencius' discussion of the doctrine that human nature is good. The only issue that is dealt with in any substantial way is the

question of the interiority of yi. What the debate section represents is Mencius' attempt to rectify a major strategic error in Kao Tzu's battle against the Mohists—the

admission that yi is determinate, relative, and therefore incompetent to provide a safe haven for Ruists interested in demonstrating the absolute value of li practice.

Here, when Mencius argues that human nature is good, his ultimate meaning is that li is a natural expression of the human mind.

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The sixth and most complex entry in the Kao Tzu chapter involves an exposition of non­Mencian doctrines about hsing, followed by a two­part statement by Mencius

summarizing his position. The first part of this statement recapitulates Mencius' theory of the "four sprouts," a theory that appears elsewhere in the Mencius, completely

independent of any entailment with a theory of hsing. The second part concerns the relationship between the hsing and T'ien. In the following two sections, we will

concentrate on the first part of Mencius' stated doctrine of hsing. Subsequently, we will explore its links to T'ien.

Mencius' Millenarian Beliefs and the "Four Sprouts"

Mencius set out upon his travels with a conviction: given that by prophecy and the signs of the times the appearance of the new King was imminent, and given that

Mencius himself possessed the understanding of the way such a King would rule, then what was imminent was not necessarily the birth of a particular individual who

was destined to conquer because he was a Sage, but might merely involve a decision by an ordinary ruler to adopt the teachings of Mencius as his guide and Mencius

as his minister. This new King would not necessarily be a man of superhuman virtue; he could be any man, given the right conditions of timing and political opportunity.

This expectation provided a rationale for Mencius' career as a wandering Sage, as the requirement of the advent of a perfect ruler could not have. 60

Mencius' personal ambitions rested upon the premise that any actual ruler might become an ideal ruler.61 It is important to imagine the implausibility of this idea to men

of Mencius' time. Mythical emperors such as Yao and Shun, warriors such as T'ang and Wu had been transformed by hagiographers into perfect saints, men like

gods. It was too much to expect the debauched feudal lords of Warring States China to step into the shoes of heroes such as these. As one native of Ch'i remarked,

watching Mencius depart from that state in failure: "If he did not realize that our king could not be made into a T'ang or a Wu, then he was rather

unperceptive" (M:2B.12).62

To make his expectations convincing, both to himself and to the rulers whose teacher he sought to become, Mencius required carefully devised doctrines that he could

argue with force. The doctrine of the "four sprouts" was the ultimate answer to this need. It was intended to persuade any ruler that he possessed in his mind the single

most important attribute characteristic of the Sage King: the virtue jen.

All men possess a mind that cannot be indifferent to the sufferings of others. The former kings possessed such a mind, and their governments were ones which cared

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for the people. When a ruler governs according to his natural care for others, he can rule the world as though it lay in the palm of his hand. Why do I say all men possess such a

mind? Suppose a man were suddenly to see a child about to fall into a well; any man would feel distress and compassion. . . . The sense of compassion is the sprout of jen; the

sense of shame is the sprout of yi; the sense of deference is the sprout of li; the sense of right and wrong is the sprout of chiha. Men possess these four sprouts as they possess

their four limbs. . . . If a man brings these sprouts to fruit, he can protect the four quarters of the world. If he does not, he cannot even serve his parents (M:2A.6).

This is one of several arguments in which Mencius appeals for recognition of the spontaneity of sudden, "moral" anxiety, to persuade listeners of the innateness of

moral dispositions (see also M:3A.5).

The message spoken here reverberates through the accounts of Mencius' conversations with rulers. He tells King Hsuan of Ch'i that his tenderness toward an ox being

led to slaughter is a manifestation of the virtue of jen that can make him a true King (M:1A.7). The King's love of debased music is identified as the seed of a love for

his people (M:lB. 1). His greed for wealth and lust for sex are transformed into the true King's delight in the prosperity of his state and the beauty of his queen

(M:1B.5).

Although the theory of the four sprouts asserts the universal possession of four different qualities of mind, the demonstration of its truth involves only a single virtue: jen.

Apparently, at the time the discussion of M:2A.6 was first recorded Mencius was unable to arrive at proofs for the other three virtues, or at least we can speculate that

his proofs were too weak to convince, or to merit inclusion in the text. In fact, the only piece of convincing material that Mencius was able to offer to prove the theory

of the four sprouts was the occasional arousal of unselfish feelings of compassion in people. From this single thread, Mencius spun his doctrine of the identity of actual

and ideal man.

It was natural, then, that Mencius identify this compassionate response with jen. Jen was certainly the most important of the Ruist virtues, and demonstrating its innate

existence in the mind greatly helped Mencius' theory bear the weight of the other three sprouts, whose innate existence hung upon the single proof of jen. But by

making this absolute identification between jen and the compassionate response, Mencius acquiesced to a considerable change in the Ruist meaning of "jen." No

longer did it have the broad range of the Analects' totalistic virtue. Instead, "jen" in the Mencius is generally restricted to the meaning of "compassion," identical with

Mohist usage. It is no longer a comprehensive virtue, but only the first among many cardinal virtues.

Thus, in the course of arguing the existence of Sage qualities in actual rulers, Mencius implicitly lowered his expectations of what a Sage should be. The totalism—the

true goal of Ruists who aspired to Sagehood—was

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lost in the accommodating identification of jen with compassionate feelings. This could have had a serious effect on Ruism if it had remained the last word on the goal

of Sagehood. But in fact, it was not that the ideal of the totalism had been lost, but only that it had been displaced into new terminology, which may not yet have been

formulated at the time M:2A.6 was first recorded.

As we noted in section 1 above, Book 2 of the Mencius might have been authored independently of and earlier than some of the other books of the text, and might

not record the doctrines that Mencius formulated after his retirement. One piece of supporting evidence is that Book 2 includes no mention of the hsing or of Mencius'

position concerning the hsing. 63

When we reencounter the four sprouts in the Kao Tzu chapter, which may have been compiled with a more detailed knowledge of Mencius' last teachings, the context

of the doctrine has altered considerably. For one thing, in the passages of the text that immediately precede its restatement we see Mencius arrive at a proof that

demonstrates simultaneously the existence of the sprouts of yi and li: the proof that yi is internal and is manifested as the sense of respect, or li.64 Mencius has filled

out his theory, and, what is more, he is now citing it as a general proof of the existence of a comprehensive category of mind: the good hsing. In the hsing, which

incorporates all four cardinal virtues, we find reconstituted the totalism that in the Analects had been signified by the term "jen." As with jen, the hsing was

something that had to be cultivated, and we will see that when the hsing was fully realized, holistic understanding was achieved ("To know one's nature is to know

T'ien").

The term "hsing," then, has a somewhat unexpected function in the Mencius. Although the portrait of what is innate to a species is generally considered to be

descriptive, here we find the idea standing in the place of the prescriptive Ruist virtue of jen, as found in the Analects. What actually was the meaning of the term

around which Mencius built his most famous doctrine?

The Meaning of "Hsing" in the Mencius

As noted many times, a fundamental reason why Mencius was able to maintain the doctrine that people are good by nature—a thesis in conflict with the observations

of normal experience—was because he used the word "hsing," "innate nature," in an unusual way. As Graham states, "Mencius . . . seems never to be looking back

towards birth, always forward to the maturation of a continuing growth" (1967:216).65 The hsing is innate in that all people share the moral senses that provide the

opportunity to achieve personal perfection. But it often appears that Mencius does not envision a

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person as "possessing" the hsing until after that path to perfection has been traveled.

"Hsing" does not seem to denote either the capacities of the mind at birth, or a composite of all capacities that a person could conceivably develop in a lifetime, both

of which are descriptive notions. Hsing points toward a particular type of being to which man can aspire. It is a prescriptive term, denoting the Ruist totalism, the

holistic comprehension of all phenomena and all action imperatives, attainable through ritual self­cultivation.

Mencius was perfectly aware that his use of the word "hsing" was not conventional. We find several such acknowledgements in the Mencius. The most important is

also, unfortunately, the most obscurely phrased. In order to make its meaning clear, I will first translate it here, and then offer a periphrastic restatement. 66

When people speak of "hsing," they refer only to our primitive being, and that is moved only by profit. What they dislike about intelligence is that it forces its way. If intelligence

acted as Yü did in guiding the rivers, then they would not dislike it. When Yü guided the rivers, he followed their spontaneous courses. If intelligence also followed its

spontaneous course, it would be great wisdom indeed. Heaven is high and the stars are distant, but if we seek after their primitive being, we can predict the solstices for a

thousand years (M:4B.26).67

When people talk about "human nature," they restrict the meaning of the term to our most primitive thoughts, and these are moved only by profit. They refuse to allow that

intelligence is a part of the nature because they see it as a distorting, rather than a spontaneous force. But if intelligence were to act as Yü did when he dredged the rivers of China,

then they could have no objection to including intelligence in their concept of the nature. When Yü dredged the rivers, he followed their spontaneous courses. If intelligence also

followed its spontaneous course, it would be great wisdom indeed. Heaven is high and the stars are distant. But if we apply our intelligence in the study of their spontaneous

courses, our intelligence can run ahead of their spontaneity without distortion, and the solstices of the next thousand years will merely verify our intelligence.

Thus, Mencius does not wish to exclude a priori any aspect of human self­cultivation from the notion of what is innate to man, provided that the activity accords with

what he feels to be man's spontaneous course.

Examples of men who have displayed this type of natural self­cultivation include the Ruist models the Emperors Yao and Shun, and the dynastic founders T'ang and

Wu. Their type of self­cultivation is linked to the Ruist ideal in the following passage:

Yao and Shun did it by nature; T'ang and Wu returned to it. Every motion, every stance precise in li as one goes round: this is the acme of full virtue (M:7B.33).

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The emergence of man's nature is in fact a transformation from actual to ideal man by an act of decision:

Vast territories densely peopled: the chün­tzu wants them, but his joy does not lie therein. To stand at the center of the world and settle the people of the four quarters: the chün­

tzu rejoices in it, but his nature does not lie therein. What the chün­tzu takes as his nature is not increased by great achievements, nor decreased by retirement in failure; its place

is set. What he takes as his nature are jen, yi, li, and chih, rooted in his mind, blooming brightly over his face, coursing through his spine, flowing through his limbs. Silent, he is

understood (M:7A.21).

Mencius conceived of man's nature as identical with the nature of The chün­tzu does not possess his nature passively, as an inevitable property granted at birth. He

determines it actively, seizing it as an opportunity that has been afforded him through his constitution at birth.

Sagehood, right down to the ritual precision of the Sage's style of action. The four sprouts are possessed by all actual people, but man's nature is realized—exists—

only in the person of the Sage who achieves the Ruist ideal of totalistic comprehension.

The concept of hsing reconstitutes the Ruist totalism that Mencius seemed to put aside when he set his goals on idealizing actual rulers and limited the scope of jen. It

would make perfect sense, then, for Mencius to claim that man's nature was good. Its goodness had become imbedded analytically in the term for "nature" itself. And

this goodness was nothing abstract. It consisted specifically of the Ruist categories of mind: jen, yi, and most important, li, which had been incorporated into this

universal ideal, the mind of the Sage. Mencius had managed to implant the homunculus of the chanting, dancing Ru in the universal mind possessed by all men.

3.3.

Hsing and Ming: The Interface of the Prescriptive and Descriptive Dimensions of T'ien

We have been describing the prescriptive doctrine of the goodness of human nature, and its functionality in reconstituting the particular ritual values of Ruism as human

universals. For Mencius, the disposition to act according to ritual and right (li­yi) is a universal property of men's minds.

The linkage of the good nature to T'ien is not frequently discussed in the text of the Mencius, but it is clear and logical. In the last part of M:6A.6, the passage in which

the four sprouts are incorporated into the theory of the good hsing, Mencius concludes his discussion with a citation from the Poetry that ties the universal dispositions

of the hsing to the absolute authority of T'ien:

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The Poetry says:

T'ien gave birth to the teeming masses;

Every thing has its law.

The norm which people possess

Is love of splendid virtue. . . .

Therefore, for every thing there must be a law, and "the norm which people possess" is innately, "the love of splendid virtue." 68

The context in which the poem is cited makes it clear that for Mencius, this is an authority proving that T'ien created the hsing as a moral property. T'ien engenders in

people their moral predispositions; it is the source of ethical value.

Other passages point more explicitly to T'ien as the source of the particular moral dispositions. For example, in contrasting the Mohist imperative to love all equally

with the spontaneous impulse to love those closest to one, Mencius remarks: "When T'ien gives birth to a thing, it roots it in a single source [its parents]; [the Mohists]

would give it a split source" (M:3A.5).

Furthermore, by linking man's moral dispositions to T'ien, Mencius is able to guarantee the absolute value of those dispositions, because in these discussions, T'ien

stands as an ethical absolute, fulfilling the original ethical role it played in Chou religion. It is a teleological force—as it was in the poliltical discussions of M:5A.5­6—

and its engendering of the good hsing in man indicates what man's purpose, or "final cause," is to be.

There are offices which T'ien bestows and offices which men bestow. Jen, yi, devotion and trust, and the untiring love of good are the offices of T'ien. High ministries and

councilorships are the offices of men (M:6A.16, cf. 2A.7).

If one cultivates the offices that T'ien bestows, one can take one's proper place as T'ien's agent (M:2A.5).

Moreover, T'ien has engendered in man the abilities that he needs to cultivate his moral dispositions and achieve Sagely understanding.

The organs of the ear and eye cannot think, but are enveloped by objects. When they, as objects, encounter objects, there is merely a force of attraction. But the organ of the mind

can think. If it thinks, it can understand (te chih); if it does not think, it will not understand—this is what T'ien has given us (M:6A.15).

The ethical potential of man precisely parallels the ethical nature of T'ien.

There is a path to becoming ethically complete (ch'enga): if one does not compre­

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hend goodness, one cannot be ethically complete. Thus, ethical completion is the Way of T'ien; to concentrate on ethical completion is the Way of man (M:4A13).

This symmetry of human potential and the nature of T'ien creates the possibility of a direct experience of T'ien as comprehensive ethical perfection.

He who exhausts his mind knows his nature (hsing). To know one's nature is to know T'ien (M:7A.1).

Thus, T'ien is both the prior source of man's potential to become a Sage and immanent in the exercise of the totalistic understanding of the Sage. This is the

metaphysical model that Mencius employs as a framework for his universalization of Ruist value.

<><><><><><><><><><><><>

Our discussion has taken us from the role of li in the Mencius to the role of T'ien, and we have tried to explore how the web of metaphysical doctrine, of which T'ien

was a part, was tied to the practical interest of defending the value of li and the ritual lifestyle of Ruism. Because the text of the Mencius is so reticent about the actual

activities of Mencius' extensive study group, our discussion has necessarily been speculative. But in it we have reconciled Mencian Ruism with the mainstream practice

of Ruism portrayed in chapter II, and it has yielded a portrait of the prescriptive role of T'ien in the Mencius closely resembling that found in the Analects. In both the

Analects and the Mencius T'ien is the source and the supporting ground for the Ruist path to Sagehood (ethical self­cultivation through ritual study) and for the Ruist

ideal of the Sagely totalism. This is the central meaning of T'ien in its prescriptive sense.

But Mencius discovered, as had Confucius, that the assurance that T'ien had prescriptively ordained his ethical values did nothing to explain the failure of his political

actions. We have still to consider how Mencius used T'ien to explain the descriptive amorality of the empirical world, manifest in the failure of Ruist principles to

influence society and bring an end to the chaos of the Warring States.

Mencius' Failure and the Descriptive Role of T'ien

We saw earlier, in section 2, that Mencius was prepared to subscribe to an extreme descriptivist view of T'ien in order to rationalize views of history that supported his

political doctrines. In doing this, however, Mencius did not relinquish the implicit claim that T'ien, in directing history, pursued

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a teleological plan. On the contrary, the contorted arguments of M:5A.5­6 are designed to show, against all odds, that history reveals the ethical premises of T'ien's

action.

Mencius had himself become, through his own ambitions, a significant actor in the history of his day. Convinced of the opportunities prophesied by numerology and

manifest in the desperation of the times, Mencius risked putting Ruist political doctrines to their great test and had been willing to become a part—in name at least—of

the amoral political system of the Warring States. Mencius was convinced that his personal virtue was so complete as to allow him to link, in practice, the moieties of

Ruist doctrine: self­cultivation and political action. Mencius put to the test the assertion that generations of Ru had avoided testing: that a truly virtuous Ru, given the

opportunities of the times, could transform the world. 69

He failed completely. And he did not hesitate to attribute his failure to the workings of T'ien's ultimate teleological plan:

As Mencius was traveling after his departure from Ch'i, Ch'ung Yü questioned him. ''Sir, you seem to be unhappy. Yet formerly I have heard you say, 'The chün­tzu does not

complain against T'ien or blame men.' " "That was one time," Mencius replied, "this is another.70 Every five hundred years a true King should arise, and in the interval there will be

those who bring fame to their generations. Since the Chou it has now been over seven hundred years. According to calculation, the term is past, and if we judge by the times, they

are ripe. It is that T'ien does not yet wish to bring peace and order to the world. If it did, in this age, who besides myself [could do so]? Why, then, should I be

unhappy?" (M:2B.13).

The attribution of his own political failure to T'ien parallels the way the Analects handles the similar problem of Confucius' failure, but it seems clear that for Mencius

this was a bitter pill to swallow. After all, Mencius had Confucius' example to work from, and he was not simply acting on a voluntaristic imperative: he had judged

that the times were ripe, and he was wrong. He had mishandled the doctrine of timeliness, and there were those who regarded him as having acted either foolishly or

inconsistently (e.g., M:2B.12, 6B.6). And, perhaps most important, his test of the Ruist assumption that a great Ru, given the opportunity, could transform the world

had not only misfired, but had resulted in Ruism becoming entangled in the immoral rape of Yen by the armies of Ch'i (see chapter II, section 2.2). His personal failure

was potentially a severe blow to the Ruist community.

But Mencius' political failure was most likely the spur that led him to develop one of the most intriguing aspects of his philosophy, the complex doctrine of the "personal

decree," or ming.71 This doctrine is spelled out in a number of passages in the Mencius, all appearing in the final Chin­hsin

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chapter. Kanaya Osamu has speculated that this chapter is probably the latest in date of all the books of the Mencius, and represents primarily the last teachings of

Mencius in retirement (1950­51:24). If Kanaya is correct, then we are justified in taking the confinement of the doctrine of the personal decree to that chapter as

indicating its late development as a response to the practical problem of rationalizing Mencius' political failure, so as to minimize that failure's detrimental effect upon

both Mencius' personal stature and the stature of Ruism as a sect.

The doctrine of the personal decree represents Mencius' most sophisticated position on the ethical ambiguity of empirical society and the stance that the morally

committed individual must take in light of it. By exploring this doctrine in detail, we will be able to understand more fully not only the descriptive role of T'ien in the

Mencius, but also the occasionally dynamic interplay between that role and the prescriptive role exemplified by the hsing that Mencian theory entails.

The doctrines of hsing and ming represent complementary models explaining in metaphysical theory the prescriptive and descriptive action of T'ien. As we have seen,

elements of the theory of the good hsing were initially prompted by Mencius' need to show that the existing feudal rulers of his day possessed the potential to become

Sage Kings and so fulfill millennial prophecy. The theory itself became fully developed as a part of Mencius' tactical use of metaphysics and ethical epistemology to

defend the ritual basis of Ruism against philosophical attacks launched by competing schools. The theory of ming, probably developed by Mencius after the collapse

of his political mission, was designed to rationalize that defeat and to protect Ruist doctrine from the implications of his own action in putting those doctrines to a test

they essentially failed.

The Personal Decree

In our discussion of Mencius' political ideas, we saw that in M:5A6 he explained the notion of the Mandate of Heaven in completely descriptive terms: "What is done

without anyone doing it is T'ien; what comes without anyone bestowing it is the Mandate (ming)." A little further on in the same chapter, we find a hint that this

"ming" can be relevant to people who are not destined to be rulers as well as to Kings. Responding to rumors that Confucius had twice compromised his political

integrity by accepting the patronage of unsavory characters in the states of Wei and Ch'i, Mencius replies:

Confucius advanced according to li and retired according to yi. As to whether or not he received employment, "That is ming," he said. Now to take as patrons Yung

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Chü or the eunuch Chi Huan would have been to act without either yi or ming. . . . If Confucius had done so, wherein would he have been Confucius? (M:5A.8).

In this passage, we can discern three principles guiding action: li, yi, and ming. The first two we have already discussed; they are completely intelligible in the context

of Mencian doctrine. But the use of ming here is unusual. When we encountered ming in the Analects it was a purely descriptive term, denoting the limits of individual

ethical endeavor. The most conspicuous use of the term appears in A:14.36, where it is used in the same way as it is used in the first instance in the passage above.

However, when Mencius goes on to say that to have acted immorally would have been to be "without ming," he is giving ming a prescriptive sense that is not easy

to understand. In this prescriptive dimension, ming seems to encroach upon the province of hsing, confusing the neat complementary relation between the two. This

prescriptive/descriptive ambiguity is crucial to the Mencian doctrine of the personal decree developed in the Chin­hsin chapter.

The ambiguity can be traced to the root meanings of the word "ming." The most common meaning of the word is "command" or ''decree" and it is used in this sense

throughout early bronze inscriptions. 72 Commands have descriptive dimensions to the degree that they "must" be obeyed, but they are basically prescripts, and can be

contravened. "Must" means "must—or else!" The purely descriptive sense of "ming" derives from an early and important second meaning: "lifespan." The word is

occasionally used in this sense in bronze inscriptions, as well as in later texts, such as the Analects (e.g., A:6.2, 6.10).73 It is only this latter meaning that carries the

exclusively descriptive sense that allows "ming" to be properly translated at times as "fate."

Now, the Mo Tzu attacks Ruism as a "fatalistic" doctrine, and there is some basis to the charge.74 It is difficult to ignore the deterministic implications of passages such

as A:14.36 or M:5A.8 that seem to attribute the outcome of events to ming rather than to human effort, and also passages such as M:2B.13 and M:1B.16 that cite the

descriptive action of T'ien in the same spirit. However, although Ruist texts occasionally choose the option of fatalistic rhetoric to explain Ruist political failures,

systematic Ruist doctrine was not fatalistic, and the prescriptive dimension of Mencius' use of ming illustrates this.

Mencius' use of ming derives strictly from the root meaning of "command" and is governed by a political metaphor. T'ien issues decrees, as does a ruler, and man is

obliged to obey them, as is a subject. That obligation is ethical and occasionally coercive; it is not, however, related to predetermined or inevitable circumstance. T'ien

rules as does a human ruler. Its will shall be done, but it is a responsive will, not a predetermined

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one, and the effectiveness of T'ien's commands in no way removes from its subjects the responsibility to obey, nor does it follow that they will be obeying commands

even if they exert no effort to do so. It is descriptively true that T'ien's commands shall be fulfilled, as is true of great earthly rulers, but obeying them is prescriptive.

The metaphor of the ruler and the subject pervades the Mencius' discussions of the relation between T'ien and man.

He who exhausts his mind knows his nature; to know one's nature is to know T'ien. The way to serve T'ien is to preserve the mind and nourish the nature. The way to stand

[waiting] for T'ien's commands (ming) is this: never waver for fear of death, just cultivate your self and await them (M:7A.1). 75

Everything is decreed (ming): obey by receiving [those commands] proper [to you]. Thus, those who know their commands do not stand beneath high walls. A man's proper

command is to follow the Way to the end and die. To die in shackles [cannot be] a man's proper command (M:7A.2).76

These passages, which open the Chin hsin chapter, illustrate the balance of prescriptive and descriptive implications that follow from the picture of T'ien as ruler.

M:7A. 1 begins with the purely prescriptive imperative to cultivate the good hsing, following the Ruist path to Sagehood. The hallmark of the Sage is the complete

selfconscious development of the moral nature, which is identical to a knowledge of T'ien or the ethical order of the world. This prescriptive path leads to an

understanding of how to read personal imperatives out of the course of events. T'ien, acting through people and events, is constantly issuing commands, but not all

commands are directed towards any one individual. The passages picture the individual as one of many subjects of T'ien, standing in the rain of descriptive events that

are T'ien's decrees, watching them for the moral opportunities that constitute his own prescriptive orders.77

The ruler/subject metaphor that governs the discussion of the ming is effective in theoretically reconciling Ruist political failure with the value of Ruist practice. By

assigning to man the role of subject, this portrait reinforces his ethical obligations (study and await ethical opportunity) without demanding that those be in any way

entailed with the actual outcome of events. T'ien guarantees to no one person that obedience to its orders will result in a preconceived outcome. The ethically absolute

nature of T'ien merely guarantees that obeying its decrees is a moral obligation and that the course of the T'ien­guided world is, in sum, ethical. Thus, the Ruist

persistence in ethical conduct in the face of political futility is fully rationalized by this model.

The interplay between prescriptive dimensions of hsing and ming forms

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a complex doctrinal web. The passages of the Chin hsin chapter that are concerned with the doctrine of the personal decree tend to contrast, explicitly or implicitly,

the prescriptive notion of hsing (which, as man's "innate nature," would seem to be an intuitively descriptive notion) with ming, which Mencius endows with a

substantial prescriptive component. The third passage of the chapter stresses the distinct dimensions of hsing and ming. It comments on two platitudes, the first

describing the cultivation of the hsing, or the totalism, the second describing the quest for political influence.

"Strive for it and get it; let it go and lose it": here striving helps to get it, because what I strive for lies within me. "There is a way to strive for it; getting it lies with ming": here

striving does not help to get it, because what I strive for lies outside of me (M:7A.3). 78

Hsing is the utmost to which a man can strive, and by developing his hsing a man becomes fit to take on his role in the teleological course of history. But his is only the

role of a single person. Ming represents the circumscribing limit to the practical powers of individual effort, a boundary beyond which one cannot reach.79 Regardless

of one's determination, the infinite contingencies of actual social existence restrict what any one person can achieve. Ming possesses a descriptive meaning here,

representing the plenitude of society and history faced from the perspective of the individual. Because it appears in this way as a limit, it could be translated as "fate" or

"inevitability," in that it acknowledges the inability of an individual to exercise complete control over the world he faces. But the same notion also supplies an imperative

because, by being the outward bound of hsing, it presents the goal to be reached. It is the duty of the individual to reach it, to exhaust himself and encounter the

inevitable limit that is entailed with existence as a determinate entity.

Later in the Chin hsin chapter we find a passage that straightforwardly addresses the ambiguities that exist in the doctrines of both hsing and ming. In it, Mencius

uses the descriptive dimension of ming as a foil to make clear his special use of "hsing" (as we discussed it earlier in connection with M:4B.26).

The response of the mouth to flavor, of the eye to beauty, of the ear to music, of the nose to fragrance, of the body to ease: these belong to the nature. But they are inescapable

(ming), and the chun­tzu does not speak of them as the nature. The response of the sense of jen to one's father or son, of the sense of yi to one's lord or minister, of the sense of li

to one's host or guest, of the sense of chiha to able men, of the Sage person to the Way of T'ien: these are inescapable. But they belong to our nature, and the chün­tzu does not

speak of them as inescapable (M:7B.24).

To understand this passage properly, it is useful to recall that Mencius pictures the four sprouts as responsive organs of the body, just as an eye or

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ear would be (M:2A6). In this passage, the "moral tropism" of each of the four sprouts is described by a parallel with the spontaneous action of a sense organ. 80 The

ethical comprehension of the Sage is then likened to the sensory role of the body, which integrates the various senses. Thus, the totalism, which spontaneously

embraces the holistic Way of T'ien, is precisely the coordinated development of the cardinal moral dispositions of the "greater body" of each individual, as opposed to

his "lesser" biological dimensions (see M:6A:14­15).

The overall point of M:7B.24 is to acknowledge that hsing can refer descriptively to the nature of our physical endowment, but that because we cannot ever develop

this endowment beyond its primitive state, it is better classified as ming, in its descriptive sense.

Now, the four sprouts are as responsive and universal as the other sense organs; they, too, operate without our conscious direction, as is illustrated in M:2A.6 by the

example of the child falling into the well. Their affective operation is innate and spontaneous, and they are in this sense a "decree" beyond our power to evade.

However, rather than limiting us, these represent our opportunity to participate in life as T'ien's agents, and their development depends upon our volitionally seizing that

opportunity. Thus, they are presented to us prescriptively as ethical imperatives, and Mencius labels them with the prescriptive term: "hsing."

The contrasting import of these prescriptive and descriptive aspects of human nature are summed up elsewhere in the epigram: "A man's looks and figure are T'ien­

endowed hsing, but only after becoming a Sage does a man know how to move his figure" (M:7A.38).

We can summarize Mencius' doctrine of the personal decree in diagrammatic form:

Dimensions of Hsing, Ming, and T'ien in the Mencius

Prescriptive Dimension Descriptive Dimension

Hsing Moral nature (four sprouts) Biological nature (body, appetites)

Ming Course of events within one's power to

determine (self­cultivation; ethical opportunity)

Course of events outside one's power to determine

(acts of others in T'iens teleological plan)

T'ienEndows moral nature in man Ordains events according to teleological plan, not to

reward the virtue of any one person

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The effect of the complementary relation between hsing and ming is to maintain the ethical imperatives of self­cultivation and timely political effort for the individual,

guarantee the success of personal endeavors to reach Sagehood, and account for political failures that may result in spite of that success. Although the style in which

the Mencius achieves this result differs considerably from that of the Analects, which avoids involvement in metaphysical doctrines such as hsing and ming (explicitly

noted in A:4.15 and 9.1), the structures of the doctrines involved are similar in the two texts. And the portrait of T'ien that emerges in the Mencius is not much different

from that of the Analects.

In both texts, T'ien represents the source and enduring foundation of the Ruist ritual path and the Ruist Sagely totalism. In both texts, T'ien plays a descriptive role in

explaining through a teleological model the ultimately ethical nature of Ruist political failures. Where the Mencius differs most markedly from the Analects is in its

elaboration of largely metaphysical doctrines to represent the prescriptive and descriptive roles of T'ien, and in its attempt, in its final chapter, to describe a dynamic

interaction between the two, which helps to reconcile the seeming contradictions in T'ien's relation to man.

Summary

The Mencius presents a portrait of T'ien very close to the "mainstream" portrait found in the Analects interpreted as an edited text.

T'ien's prescriptive role in the Mencius is to serve as a central element in a web of doctrine revolving around the notion of the good hsing, which represents the

totalistic ideal of Sagehood in much the same way that jen does in the Analects.

Although the Mencius is reticent about the role of li in the concrete practice of Mencian Ruism, this probably reflects the polemical objectives of the text rather than a

significant deviation from the general model of Ruist practice presented in chapter II. Mencius' theory of hsing incorporated Ruist predispositions towards ritual action

as a universal category of mind. By treating li as an innate tendency rather than as a positive code, Mencius defended Ruist ritual practice against the criticism that it

absurdly sought an absolute perfection of mind, Sagehood, through an arbitrary dynastic code. While avoiding the claim that Chou li constituted the path to Sagehood,

Mencius' theory of hsing preserved an essential theoretical linkage between li and the ideal of Sagehood. The ritual totalism was reformulated in it as the simple

realization of innate predispositions.

The voluntaristic spirit of Mencius' doctrine of the good hsing was modified by Mencius' personal experiences of political failure. This failure prob­

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ably spurred him to elaborate a theory of T'ien's descriptive action, the theory of ming, or the "personal decree." The effect of this doctrine was, as in the Analects, to

align Ruist political failure with the teleological plan of T'ien. Its impact on the Ruist community was to help protect it against the negative philosophical implications of

Mencius' political failure. It identified the political impotence of the community with its future, T'ien­guided ascendance:

When T'ien intends to place great responsibility upon a person, inevitably it first steeps his will in bitterness and subjects to toil his muscle and bone, withers his skin with hunger

and exhausts his person with poverty. In every action it frustrates his design, and in this way it motivates his mind, toughens his nature to endure, and so nurtures in him the

abilities he lacked (M:6B.15).

The bitter failure of Mencius' mission was just one more test administered by T'ien to prepare the Ruist community for its destined role.

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Chapter VIRitual as a Natural Art The Role of T'ien in the Hsun Tzu

Unlike the Analects and the Mencius, the Hsun Tzu includes a direct, detailed, and analytical discussion of T'ien, known as the T'ien­lun, or "Treatise on T'ien." this

essay addresses a broad range of issues, such as whether T'ien determines events in the human sphere, responds to human action, or reveals its will in symbolic form

through portents.

Modern scholars have focused on the "Treatise" to find Hsun Tzu's implicit answer to a question central to their interpretive frameworks: was T'ien, for Hsun Tzu, a

god or a natural force? A consensus has emerged which characterizes Hsun Tzu's postition on T'ien by stressing that he saw T'ien not as an anthropomorphic god, but

as an impersonal force of Nature (Fung 1931:355, Hou 1957:531­32; Fung 1962:498­99; Hsia 1979:45; Fu 1984:167­70), or as natural or universal law (Dubs

1927:62).

There is a great deal of truth in this consensus view, but this might have obscured the fact that it is not the whole story, nor, perhaps, even the central theme of the role

of T'ien in the Hsun Tzu. Some recent Japanese writers have pointed out that certain spiritualist elements in the text's view of T'ien contradict the consensus view

(Ikeda 1965:19­21; Itano 1968). 1 Matsuda Hiroshi, in particular, has stressed that the normative way in which T'ien is frequently spoken of in the "Treatise" and

elsewhere in the Hsun Tzu should warn us against making an oversimplified equation between T'ien and Nature, scientifically conceived (1975).

One of the problems with the consensus view is that it implicitly assumes that the Hsun Tzu's theories about T'ien reflect an abstract philosophical interest in T'ien.

Scholars holding to the consensus view have tended to identify the Hsun Tzu's philosophical agenda with their own. We have seen in our other two early Ruist texts

that the authors of those texts did not discuss T'ien out of abstract theoretical interest, but because they were anxious to use traditional notions about T'ien to

rationalize their commitment to ritual and self­ritualization. We will see that the same can be said of the authors of the Hsun Tzu. And, as in the other texts, an

important indication that this is so is the fact that major inconsistencies are found in the way in which the text discusses T'ien, inconsistencies which appear even within

the confines of the "Treatise on T'ien."

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We will find in our analysis that the theory of T'ien that is the focus of the "consensus" view is only one of several implicit and explicit theories that appear in the text.

These theories are in many respects mutually contradictory. They are linked, however, by a common instrumental function: all serve to legitimize ritual and ritual self­

cultivation.

Broadly described, we will encounter three theories of T'ien in this chapter. The first is the theory of T'ien as nonpurposive, non­normative Nature the theory

recognized by the consensus view. This theory, which is central to the Hsun Tzu's doctrine of human nature as evil, effectively maintains that that which is of ethical

value to man cannot be found in the natural world, which is non­ethical, but must be sought in the world of human effort, a non­natural world, where ethical value is

created. Li is the epitome of such value.

This first theory, which in its denial of purpose and value to T'ien as Nature seems to carry protoscientific overtones, has traditionally commanded the attention of

commentators because of its intellectual sophistication. It must be understood, however, that for all its intellectual virtuosity, central features of the theory are unlikely to

have been original to the text. The Hsun Tzu's naturalistic view of T'ien is most likely derivative, reflecting what were probably the dominant trends of late Warring

States metaphysical speculation. Similar theories appear in texts associated with various types of naturalistic philosophy, and we will see that at the time that the Hsun

Tzu was composed, naturalism was, indeed, the dominant philosophical mode of the day. Theories of T'ien as Nature, in one form or another, were not uncommon.

The distinctive achievement of the Hsun Tzu was to coopt this type of theory and apply it in a typically Ruist way, to reinforce the Ruist commitment to ritual.

The key function of this first theory was to respond to naturalistic philosophies, which legitimized Nature as a source of ethical value by identifying it with a primary

ethical term: "t'ien." The Hsun Tzu accepted that identification, but denied to T'ien­as­Nature the ethical significance traditionally associated with the word "t'ien."

The second theory of T'ien differs from the first in a subtle but important way. It, too, views T'ien as Nature, but it does not seek to divest T'ien­as Nature of ethical

significance. Rather, portraying this natural T'ien as normative, it seeks to show ethical continuity between the natural realm and the primary artifact of human

perfection: li. In this theory, man's ritual making ability is pictured as a manifestation of a normative natural endowment possessed innately by man. Li is portrayed as

an extension of natural patterns, and T'ien­as­Nature is presented as a prescriptive model which the Ruist Sage alone is able to emulate.

This second theory has not been generally recognized by commentators.

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It takes a variety of forms in the text, the most prominent of which are a portrait of human psychology endowed with normatively described "T'ien­like" qualities, a

theory of the continuity of li: "ritual," and lia: "natural principle," and a doctrine that proclaims an ideal "trinity of heaven, earth, and man." all of these ideas appear in

the ''Treatise on T'ien," and we will encounter them in our analysis of that chapter. The notion of a continuity between ritual and natural principle is also linked implicitly

to the Hsun Tzu's portrait of the world of things, which we will discuss in connection with the thematic unity of the text.

As the third component of the Hsun Tzu's discussions of T'ien, we will encounter in the text several instances where "t'ien" seems to be used as a normative term

without any direct reference to Nature at all. In these instances, T'ien, as god, as ethical prescript, or as fate, is employed in conventional Ruist fashion to legitimize

Ruist ritual interests.

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The organization of this chapter will be as follows: First, we will explore the history and structure of the Hsun Tzu. Our main conclusion will be that the central portions

of the text are unlikely to have been the work of a single author, and that the text is best viewed as a collective work, the product of a school of Ruism founded in the

state of Ch'i by the philosopher Hsun K'uang during the third century B.C.

In "The Challenge of Naturalism," we will argue that the text should be viewed as, in large part, a sectarian response to the rise in popularity experienced during the

late Chou by a wide variety of philosophies, all of which shared an interest in deriving ethical value from Nature. We will briefly summarize what we know about these

various "naturalistic" schools, all of which threatened Ruism because they claimed that value must be sought in the world of Nature, rather than in cultivating "non­

natural" artifacts of human culture, such as li. We will then go on to argue, through an examination of five of the Hsun Tzu's most distinctive philosophical theories, that

the Hsun Tzu's organizing theme should be viewed as a multifaceted defense of ritual and ritual self­cultivation, a theme that its theories of T'ien are intended to echo.

Finally, we will analyze directly the function of T'ien in the text, focusing in particular on those sections of the "Treatise on T'ien" that illuminate theories of T'ien different

from that recognized by the consensus view.

Our conclusion will be that although in coopting a naturalistic terminology for T'ien the Hsun Tzu differs from the Analects and Mencius, in terms of the instrumental

meaning of "t'ien" there is substantial continuity with the earlier texts.

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1.

The Nature of the Text

The text of the Hsun Tzu 2 has traditionally been attributed to a Warring States Ruist named Hsun K'uang (var. Sun K'uang;3 styled Ch'ing), who flourished during the

third century B.C. We know very little about Hsun K'uang's life, and what documentation we do possess tends to be confusing and contradictory.

Hsun K'uang's birth date is the subject of much dispute, and scholars vary in their choice of date by as much as three decades.4 His death date is likewise unknown.5

He is said to have been a native of the state of Chao in north central China. Some time between about 305 and 285 B.C., he came to study and teach at the great

Chi­hsia Academy in the state of Ch'i.6 The academy had been founded at the capital city during the mid­fourth century B.C. by the ruler of Ch'i.7 It offered famous

thinkers large stipends and state honors in return for no services other than remaining in Ch'i and expounding their doctrines. By the early third century B.C., it

numbered among its members virtually all the greatest thinkers of the time, and these men and their doctrines are frequent objects of polemical attack in the Hsun Tzu.

In 285 B.C., the excessive expansionism of King Min brought Ch'i into a disastrous war with neighboring states. The king was killed, Ch'i nearly dismembered, and

the Chi­hsia Academy dissolved.8 One source tells us that at about this time, Hsun K'uang traveled to the state of Ch'u.9 Later, when the Academy was reassembled

under King Hsiang (r. 283­265 B.C.), Hsun K'uang seems to have returned, eventually becoming the senior scholar at the Academy 10

During the reign of King Hsiang and his successor, T'ien Chien, 11 the southern regions of Ch'i suffered steady encroachment by Ch'u. Between 261 and 255 B.C.,

Ch'u seized those parts of Ch'i that constituted the old Ruist homeland of Lu (absorbed into Ch'i during the fourth century B.C.). The seizure was orchestrated by the

great Ch'u warlord Huang Hsieh, known as Lord Ch'un­shen, and he capped his triumph in 255 B.C., by appointing Hsun K'uang, the most famous Ru of his day,

magistrate of the Lu town of Lan­ling. 12 Hsun K'uang seems to have served as magistrate until 238 B.C., the year of Huang Hsieh's assassination. 13

Hsun K'uang lived during an age of peripatetic wise men, wandering from court to court in search of sympathetic rulers. The Hsun Tzu does not narrate Hsun K'uang's

travels, but it does contain set pieces which portray Hsun K'uang in audience with the rulers and leading statesmen of the state of Ch'in and of his home state of

Chao.14 These dialogues have generally been accepted as convincing evidence that Hsun K'uang did, in fact, travel to these states as a "persuader," and they have

been employed in all attempts

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to construct a biographical outline for Hsun K'uang. It is entirely possible that they are actually fictionalized accounts—philosophical arguments rendered more

impressive and attractive by being set in the common anecdotal format of the audience. 15 But if they are valid testimony of Hsun K'uang's travels, this would mean

that he was in western China between 266 and 255 B.C. or between the death of King Hsiang of Ch'i and his own appointment at Lan­ling.16

What we can reconstruct of Hsun K'uang's biography potentially points us in two different directions as we approach a functional analysis of the Hsun Tzu. If we lay

great stress upon Hsun K'uang's travels among feudal courts and on his appointment to an official position, we will tend to view the text of the Hsun Tzu as essays

directed towards rulers with the aim of securing for Hsun K'uang and his disciples positions of governmental responsibility—as Hsun K'uang's portfolio, so to speak.

If, conversely we lay greatest stress upon Hsun K'uang's long tenure at Chi­hsia and upon his apparent success as an academic there, we will tend to view the text as a

philosophical polemic, directed primarily against other Chi­hsia thinkers and their schools with the aim of rationalizing the characteristic thought and activities of Hsun

K'uang and his Ruist disciples.

Obviously, the model of early Ruism presented in this book suggests the greater likelihood of the latter interpretation, and I will argue for it in the remainder of this

section.

Let us turn first to the matter of Hsun K'uang's appointment at Lan­ling. The fact that Hsun K'uang appears to have occupied a post of administrative responsibility has

traditionally been viewed as evidence of his politically activist orientation. How, we must ask, is his tenure at Lan­ling consistent with a portrait of Hsun K'uang as a

politically withdrawn Ru master?

We must examine the circumstances of the appointment. It was made in 255 B.C., at a time when Hsun K'uang was probably between sixty and eighty­five years

old.17 He held the post for eighteen years, until at least age seventy­eight, and retired only because of the death of his patron. The implication is that the post was

intended as a lifetime sinecure, and this may be taken as evidence that it was little more than an honorary position.18 Hsun K'uang's appointment was probably

designed to enhance the reputation of Huang Hsieh and pacify the populace of the conquered region of Lu. We have no evidence that Hsun K'uang pursued a political

career prior to his tenure at Lan­ling.19 The post might well have been unsought, and the linkage of the appointment to Huang Hsieh's conquests suggests that Hsun

K'uang may have accepted employment under some duress. His position was, in any event, far removed from the seat of Ch'u power, where any influence on state

policy might have been felt. In short,

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Hsun K'uang's post at Lan­ling should not lead us to portray the man as an office seeker, or to view the philosophy of the Hsun Tzu as springing from the motivations

of political ambition.

The portrait of the Hsun Tzu as an academic rather than a political text is also enhanced if we question the ascription of the text to a single author. It has long been

recognized that certain portions of the text were clearly not written by Hsun K'uang. The text's earliest annotater, Yang Liang of the T'ang Dynasty, conceded that

chapters 27 through 32 were not the work of Hsun K'uang alone. 20 Others have noted that portions of other, more seminal chapters, such as Ju­hsiao ("The Ruist

Paradigm"), Yi­ping ("Debate on the Military"), and Ch'iang­kuo ("Strengthening the State"), speak of Hsun K'uang in the third person by honorific, and seem to have

been written by disciples.21 It is true that great consistency of style and thought is found throughout many of the chapters and this, taken alone, might indicate the

likelihood of a single author. In particular, the Hsun Tzu consistently employs unusual vocabulary found rarely in other pre­Ch'in texts.22 Yet these words are used as

frequently in chapters that are clearly the work of disciples as in other chapters, hence their use throughout the text cannot prove that Hsun K'uang was author of any

given part.

The hypothesis that the Hsun Tzu is more plausibly viewed as a collective work of "Hsun Tzu's school" than as the work of a single individual is not a new one.23 The

foremost textual analyst of the Hsun Tzu, Kanaya Osamu, has demonstrated that consistent arguments can be offered for both views (1951).24 The preponderance of

evidence, however, points toward collective authorship. Yet little is known about Hsun Tzu's circle of followers.

The Hsun Tzu is written in an impersonal style and rarely interjects narrative passages about Hsun K'uang and his disciples. The text itself seems to mention the names

of only two disciples,25 and not many more can be found through other sources.26 We know, however, that teachers at Chi­hsia had large followings, with disciples

numbering in the hundreds.27 Given Hsun K'uang's elevated status there, he too probably attracted a considerable following. 28 The outsized influence which his

works exerted during the late Chou and early Han periods—no other philosophical text was so promiscuously plagerized by later authors 29—confirms the existence

of a large body of disciples who passed along their Master's wisdom.

The connection between disciples and text is also suggested by the fact that virtually none of the chapters speak of persons or events which allow us to date them

post­255 B.C., that is, after Hsun K'uang's final departure from Chi­hsia. There are exceptions,30 but a case can easily be made for the argument that Hsun K'uang

added nothing to the literature after his departure to Lan­ling, and that whatever portion of the Hsun Tzu he may have

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written before his appointment at Lan­ling was left to his disciples in Ch'i to develop and edit. 31 The text belonged to the group, not the Master.

I do not mean to argue that Hsun K'uang wrote none of the Hsun Tzu. I believe he may have written a great deal of it and inspired the rest. The intimacy of certain

polemical passages, such as the tirade against Sung Chien in the Cheng lun ("Rectifying Doctrine") chapter, clearly echoes the frustrations of the jealous academician

and can best be read as Hsun K'uang's own words (see Hsia 1979:26). My point is that the text as a whole should be viewed as the statement of a scholastic sect

over the period of, say, 100 years, and analyzed in terms of the enduring interests of that sect, rather than in terms of any supposed political ambitions of its leader. It

should be viewed as a textbook for Ruist disciples, written to instruct them in self­perfection and equip them with rhetorical weapons to fend off philosophical attack—

similar, in the latter way, to the Mencius.

The communal Ruist background of the text is, perhaps, best glimpsed in two of its more obscure chapters: the Ch'eng­hsiang ("In Cadence") and Fu

("Conundrums") chapters, each named for and written in a popular literary form. Ch'eng­hsiang, which is an elegant summation of the major points of the philosophy

of the Hsun Tzu, is written as a simple rhythmical chant.32 "Fu" denoted a type of riddle form during the pre­Ch'in period, and the Fu chapter opens with a series of

riddles, followed by brief verse sections described in the text as an ''eccentric ode" (kuei­shih) and a "ditty" (hsiao­ko).

Ch'eng­hsiang can be dated post­238 B.C.33 and seems very likely to have been written after Hsun K'uang's death. Its unique style can be explained by viewing it as

a summary mnemonic for beginning students of the Hsun Tzu school of Ruism. It is complete with cue lines, and might have been a recitation, guided by a percussive

rhythm marker. The riddles of the Fu chapter are clearly group games—some are quite trivial—and in them we may be reading a near­transcript of a Ruist school in

"recess."34 Read as records of group recitations and games, these chapters transmit a distant echo of the cultic nature of the Hsun Tzu school. their anonymous

speakers serve to remind us that although we know little of Hsun K'uang's disciples and successors, their influence on the text of the Hsun Tzu may have been great

indeed.

As we examine the Hsun Tzu, then, we will do best to read it as the statement of one among the many scholastic sects gathered at Chi­hsia during the third century

B.C., each of them busily engaged in programs of self­cultivation and philosophical speculation, vigorously disputing among one another to earn preeminence among

the academic schools, attract students from the community and beyond, and retain or increase the stipends granted them by the rulers of Ch'i—all this until the

whirlwind

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conquests of Ch'in scattered them into isolation, each school religiously elaborating doctrine and perfecting practice in the hope of future exaltation, believing that,

"disciples, if you study hard, T'ien will not forget you!" (H:26.32).

2.

The Challenge of Naturalism

The text of the Hsun Tzu opens with a paradox: "Study must never cease: blue dye is procured from the indigo plant, but it is bluer than indigo" (H:1.1). 35 Paradox is

indeed a key theme of the Hsun Tzu, for if any single lesson permeates the text, it is this parallel paradox: Sagehood and social perfection born of non­natural li are

cultivated in man as a natural animal, but they are far greater than anything innately in man's nature. The central goal of the Hsun Tzu is to demonstrate the dynamics of

this paradox, which stood in direct conflict with the dominant mode of contemporary philosophy: naturalism. This is not to say that the authors of the text had only one

point on their minds. No other pre­Ch'in text outside of compendia such as the Kuan Tzu and Lü­shih ch'un­ch'iu shows as much diversity of interest and genius.

Not every passage of the text is linked on the single thread of ritual self­cultivation. But the predominant ideas of the text—the evil of human nature, the social nature of

man, the dynamics of scarce resources, the design of a fair society, the epistemological structure of the mind—all are facets of a central project to legitimize non­

natural li in the face of the growing authority of Nature in the late Chou philosophies.

In the course of this section, I hope to show that this is so, and to demonstrate that the urgency of formulating the arguments that comprise the Hsun Tzu was created

by the growth of a variety of naturalistic systems of thought during the last century of the Warring States period, all of which threatened the intellectual legitimacy of the

Ruist devotion to non­natural li.

We shall see that the Hsun Tzu responded to the challenges of naturalism with three basic types of argument: First, what is biologically innate in man and materially

natural in the world is insufficiently valuable to serve as an ethical standard. This argument appeals to the theory of T'ien as nonpurposive and non­normative Nature.

Second, the forms of ritual and social order are meta­dimensions of nature because, although they are "art," they are induced through the dynamic interactions of

nature with the structure of the human mind. Third, the forms of ritual and social order are the teleological culmination of the natural cosmos, and their transforming

function establishes them as extensions of Nature and as ethical standards that is, ritual order is the "final cause" of the processes manifest in biological Nature, human

action being the immediate agent of that culminating

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order. These last two arguments appeal to the notion that T'ien, as Nature, is normative and is manifest in the ritual organization of society.

In the section below, we will briefly survey the varieties of contemporary naturalistic philosophies that challenged the legitimacy of the Ruist school in the last century of

the Chou period. The following section will then portray the main outline of the Hsun Tzu as a multifaceted defense of ritual practice in response to the naturalistic

challenge.

2.1.

Late Warring States Naturalism

The earliest philosophical schools of the Warring States period, Ruism and Mohism, sought to solve contemporary issues of value by imposing humanistic interpretive

frameworks on the phenomenal world: the frameworks of aesthetic ritualism and rationalistic utilitarianism. As the Warring States era progressed, however, a range of

philosophical schools arose that looked to Nature as the source of values and the starting point of philosophy. These naturalistic philosophies varied in their

approaches to Nature, but all stood in contrast to Ruism (and Mohism) in the ethical primacy which they granted natural processes.

In this section, we will characterize briefly some of these diverse schools and their influences on the Hsun Tzu. Among those we will consider are early Taoism,

"Yangist" naturalism, "Sung­Yin" or ''Chi­hsia" naturalism, Tsou Yen's yin­yang naturalism, and "divinistic" or "shamanistic" naturalism. Some of these schools differed

sharply in their notions of Nature, but they are linked in that they all looked to the natural world to find guidance for human wisdom and behavior. Our brief survey will

illustrate the pervasiveness of late Warring States naturalism and the hostile philosophical climate that surrounded Ru in that period.

Early Taoism

The Hsun Tzu shows an awareness of both the Chuang Tzu (H:21.22: "Chuang Tzu was obsessed by T'ien and did not know man") and the Lao Tzu (H.17.51: "Lao

Tzu understood recession, but did not understand assertion"), and mentions other thinkers often associated with early Taoism. 36 Many early Taoist writings survive

today, and this is not the place to enter into a long discussion of their views of ethics and nature. These can be found elsewhere in abundance. For us, the salient point

about early Taoist thought is that it generally employed a criterion of "naturalness" to determine value and regarded ethical distinctions of the sort central to Ruist

ritualism as forced, unnatural, and of no cardinal value.37

The Hsun Tzu is heavily influenced by Taoist ideas, particularly in chapters such as Pu kou ("Be Not Errant") and Chieh pi ("Dispelling Blindness").38 However, this

influence should be viewed as a cooptation of those

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aspects of Taoist quietism that easily enhanced Ruist self­cultivation practice. The Hsun Tzu consistently qualifies its Taoistic discussions with statements asserting the

absolute necessity of traditional ritual and social codes, which are what give Ruist value to the innate qualities of mind and body prized by Taoists. 39

In both its cooptation of Taoist language and ideas, and in its defensive assertions of ritual values, the Hsun Tzu demonstrates the intellectual pressure which

naturalistic Taoism exerted on late Chou Ruism.

"Yangism "

The Lü­shih ch'un­ch'iu, which according to tradition was compiled in the state of Ch'in late in the third century B.C., includes a set of chapters that Graham and

others believe to contain the ideas of the lost philosopher Yang Chu.40 The first of these chapters, Pen­sheng, begins thus:

It is T'ien which first gives birth to it; it is man who nurtures it to fulfillment. He who can nurture what T'ien has given birth to, without hindering it, is called "the son of

T'ien" (LSCC:1.6).

The "Yangist" chapters celebrate the sacred nature of the bodily self as a natural product and place the highest value upon protection of that natural object in its

spontaneous development from youth to old age.

Needham remarks that Yangism demonstrated no interest in Nature (1956:67­68). It is true that in the small corpus of chapters ascribed by some to Yang Chu, there

is no interest in Nature as an object for empirical observation. The high valuation on the living body as a sacred product of Nature, however, identifies the Yangist

chapters with other late Chou naturalisms in that value is derived from Nature, which serves as an ethical foundation.

Furthermore, as Needham notes, the possibility exists that the thinkers who produced the Yangist texts figured in the development of immortality and body hygiene

cults that became prominent during the Han—cults that actively took Nature as an object of study in the belief that the ultimate secrets of life lay within its herbs and

minerals. While we lack the evidence to demonstrate that this was so, the force of the speculative linkage is significant, and the Yangist chapters must be included in

any account of late Chou naturalisms.

"Sung­Yin" or "Chi­hsia Materialism"

At roughly the same time as the Lü­shih ch'un­ch'iu was being assembled in Western China, the compendium Kuan Tzu was being assembled in Ch'i, probably at

Chi­hsia.41 Among the chapters of that work are a group that several modern Chinese scholars have identified as the lost books of Sung

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Chien and Yin Wen, two philosophers of the late fourth and early third centuries B.C. 42 The identification is much disputed.43 However the philosophical importance

of the ideas in these chapters and their apparent strong influence on the Hsun Tzu is not in doubt. Many key phrases in the Kuan Tzu chapters appear nearly verbatim

in the Hsun Tzu, and philosophical models, such as the metaphor of the mind and body as a political hierarchy, appear in both texts.44

These chapters of the Kuan Tzu present a program of bodily self­cultivation based upon a portrait of the natural self as an extension of a cosmic order. They stress the

notion that quietism, suppression of desire, and strict regulation of bodily activities such as eating can give people access to the natural spirit­force of the cosmos and

control over the material world.45

Although the chapters, as they appear in the Kuan Tzu today, include passages clearly intended to reconcile this asocial quietism with Ruism,46 the primary interest of

their thought is unquestionably anathema to Ruism's ritual standpoint. Value is not located in the creative acts of human beings or the perfection of an ethical society,

but in the suppression of narrow human impulses and the search for a transcendental cosmic force.47

The primary concern of these chapters with natural forces of the universe has led Fung Yu­lan—who doubts that they were authored by Sung Chien and Yin Wen—to

place them in a larger group of Kuan Tzu chapters, which he describes as "Chi­hsia materialism" (1962:274).

Tsou Yen's Yin­Yang Naturalism

With the exception of Yang Chu, perhaps the most elusive of pre­Ch'in philosophers is Tsou Yen.48 According to the Shih­chi, Tsou Yen was highly revered in Ch'i

between the times of Mencius and Hsun K'uang, that is, c.300 B.C. (SC:74.2344).49 All accounts of his thought state that he formulated a detailed cosmology, based

on the interaction of yin and yang and the theory of the "five elements."50

If we are to believe early sources, Tsou Yen's ideas were enthusiastically received in northern China. There is, however, little explicit evidence of their influence in the

Hsun Tzu. Tsou Yen's name is never mentioned, although a brief attack is made on a doctrine of five elements attributed to Tzu­ssu and Mencius (H:6.11­12). Nor is

any marked interest found in the notion of yin and yang—it plays neither positive nor negative philosophical role in the text (Ikeda 1965:13).

Nevertheless, given the accounts of secondary sources, such as the Shih­chi, which ascribe enormous influence to Tsou Yen's ideas, it would seem inappropriate to

dismiss any possible influence on the Hsun Tzu. The apparent popularity of Tsou Yen's ideas, even if they escaped the direct criticism of the Hsun Tzu school, would

have enhanced the general appeal of natu­

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ralistic ideas during the late Chou. Moreover, the effect that Tsou Yen's philosophy had upon spiritualism, described below, would in itself constitute an influence on

the Hsun Tzu, which so actively attacks spiritualism.

Finally, we should note the intriguing possibility that Tsou Yen was initially trained as a Ru, a notion strongly suggested by the Shih­chi and other sources. 51 It may be

that the Hsun Tzu's attack on Mencius and Tzu­ssu, mentioned above, was actually a direct attack upon Tsou Yen, a possibility if Tsou were known to have belonged

at one time to a Ruist faction associated with the Mencian tradition.

"Divinistic" or "Shamanistic Naturalism"

One of the best known and most celebrated aspects of the Hsun Tzu is its uncompromising rejection of all forms of spiritualism, from belief in ghosts to divination on

the basis of natural "portents."52 This stance is generally consistent with the religious agnosticism expressed in the Analects, but the Hsun Tzu carries scepticism much

further, even to the point of flatly denying the spiritual efficacy of those religious rituals in which Ruists specialized (H:17.38­39).

The strength of the Hsun Tzu's scepticism should be understood in the context of the divinistic cosmologies and shamanistic cults of the time. It is well established that

during the Han Dynasty, Ruists and diviners (fang­shih) were adversaries in the struggle for imperial recognition (SC:28.1398). The polemics of the Hsun Tzu suggest

that mutual antipathy flourished during the Chou as well.

Divination and sorcery were, of course, ancient arts with a hallowed tradition. It would probably be correct to label this tradition religious, rather than philosophical.

Spiritualist schools differed in intellectual tone from the other naturalistic schools discussed in this section, yet they still must be considered as a part of the late Chou

flourishing of naturalism. As with other naturalisms, spiritualist schools held that man must look to the processes of biological Nature to find keys to ethical action.

Although spiritualist practice might, like Ruism, focus upon rituals of song and dance and incantation, unlike Ruism, these rituals were rationalized by maintaining that

their efficacy was due to an entailment in the action of natural (or supernatural) processes. Nature, not human ethical standards, was the ultimate legitimization for

spiritualist doctrine and practice. In this, late Chou spiritualism was aligned with other, more philosophical naturalisms.

By late Chou times, adepts of spiritualism were able to elaborate sophisticated cosmological models to rationalize their practices. The Tso­chuan is our primary

source for information in this regard. It contains several passages where spiritualists employ complex cosmological models to rationalize their soothsaying (e.g., Hsiang

9:14.53­57). Despite roots in supersti­

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tion, spiritualist systems appear to have become credible competitors of more philosophically oriented cults, such as Ruism. For example, although the Tso­chuan

generally holds to an antispiritualist line, 53 it sometimes seems to be coopting, rather than refuting, spiritualist cosmologies, which indicates the intellectual credibility of

spiritualism during the late Chou.54

The sophistication of spiritualist ideology seems to have been greatly enhanced by the development of late Chou naturalisms. The Shih­chi provides the following

account of the proliferation of Chou­Han diviner­sorcerers:

From the time of the reigns of Kings Wei and Hsuan of Ch'i (i.e., c. 300 B.C.), men like Tsou [Yen] wrote treatises about the endless revolutions of the "five virtues" (wu te: water,

fire, wood, earth, and metal). . . . [Tsou Yen's disciples] Sung Wu­chi, Cheng­po Ch'iao, Ch'ung Shang, and Hsien­men Kao were all from Yen. They practiced the magical arts of

immortality, the dissolution of the body, and the ways of ghosts and spirits. Tsou Yen explicated for rulers how yin and yang controlled the revolutions of the cosmos, but the

diviners of the coasts of Yen and Ch'i transmitted his arts without understanding, and from this sprang the countless hoards who dealt only with the prodigious and bizarre

(SC:28.1368­69).55

This account points to early linkages between Tsou Yen's style of cosmological naturalism, portent divination, and the rise of immortality cults, so prevalent during the

Han.56

These linkages suggest that in attacking crude spiritualism the Hsun Tzu might have been, in part, attacking more sophisticated philosophical views that looked to

analyses of natural or cosmic forces for ethical guidance. In the same way that Taoist obsession with the spontaneous naturalness or trancendental greatness of the Tao

threatened to drain all possible value from Ruist li, so the speculation of cosmologists like Tsou Yen and the diviner­sorcerers who used his ideas to claim esoteric

transcendental knowledge threatened the ethical status of the Ruist path of Sagehood.57

In sum, in the intellectual environment within which Hsun K'uang and his Chi­hsia disciples lived, the most vigorous philosophical trend was clearly naturalism, whether

of the subtle, paradoxical style of the Chuang Tzu, the protoscientific style of Tsou Yen, or the spiritualistic style of the early diviner­sorcerers. Different as they were,

all these ideologies shared a conviction that human values must be founded upon the pre­human entity of Nature. What "Nature" meant for each school or philosopher

varied widely. But regardless of the image in which Nature was cast, the ascription of fundamental value to it threatened to trivialize the Ruist commitment to non­

natural li. The Hsun Tzu should be viewed as first and foremost a response to that threat.

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3.

The Thematic Unity of the Hsun Tzu

The proliferation of naturalistic philosophies during the fourth and third centuries B.C. left Ruism in an exposed position. A growing consensus held that man's only

hope of enhancing the value of his life or his society lay in learning how he could fit into a logically pre­human cosmic scheme and bring its powers to bear through his

actions. The philosophical strength of this sort of position was considerable, and it may well be that ritual­centered Ruism was, at this time, on the way to becoming an

outmoded way of thought. If we eliminate Hsun K'uang and his followers from the history of the third century B.C., not much that is Ruist remains (although, were one

to assign the Ta­hsueh and Chung­yung to this period, the picture would be somewhat changed). 58 But what the Hsun Tzu School achieved was a remodeling of

Ruism's polemical armory that allowed Ruists to defend their commitment to non­natural li against the onslaught of naturalistic attacks.

Ruism's survival of the naturalistic heyday is an impressive achievement. Naturalism was, in many of its forms, a methodically rational and well­grounded approach to

solving both metaphysical and ethical problems. It was also extremely adaptable, as its employment by schools as divergent as Legalism, Taoism, and divinistic

shamanism suggests. In retrospect, the survival of the Ruist philosophical position seems extremely unlikely, and Ruism's ability to hold its own was surely due in large

part to the fact that it numbered among its defenders the authors of the Hsun Tzu.

In this section, we will argue that the wide­ranging discussions of the Hsun Tzu should be understood largely as improvisations on a basic theme: the theoretical

defense of li as a fundamental human value.59 The task of providing a variety of sophisticated arguments demonstrating that human ritual can compete with natural

processes as a basis of philosophical understanding is a unifying thread that ties together the text's many interests.60

The centrality of this issue can be discerned by exploring its pervasiveness in the text. The legitimation of li lies at the base of virtually every major theoretical

achievement of the Hsun Tzu. Here we will discuss the relation of this interest of five realms of theory: (1) theory of the world as an object of knowledge, (2) political

theory, (3) theory of human nature, (4) theory of education, and (5) teleological metaphysics. In each of these realms, the Hsu Tzu elaborates sophisticated and subtle

theories that can be and are used to demonstrate the fundamental value of non­natural li.

Our goal in surveying the linkage of these doctrines is not to demonstrate that all were formulated in direct response to naturalistic thought—some were clearly

elaborated to counter other schools, such as Mohism and the logicians. What our survey will show is that the text of the Hsun Tzu stands as a coherent whole. Its

major doctrines are all intelligibly con­

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nected to the theme of philosophically grounding Ruist devotion to ritual by rationalizing the relation of human ritual forms to the forms of Nature.

3.1. The World of Things as a Taxonomy

The Hsun Tzu elaborates, sometimes systematically but most often indirectly, detailed theories of the structure of the world and the process of knowning. 61 So

interesting are these theories that they are commonly analyzed in isolation, without consideration of how they represent the overall concerns of the text. These theories

are structured to uphold the value of positive ritual forms. They are exemplary Ruist theories.

The core of the Hsun Tzu's portrait of the world of things is a taxonomical view of a world divided into categories, roles, and principles, based on the fundamental

pivot of "samenes" (t'unga) and "difference" (yih). (The stress on "t'unga" and "yih," which for the Hsun Tzu signify sameness or difference of distinguishing traits

rather than of existential identity, was characteristic of late Chou logical schools, such as the Mohists and logicians.)

This taxonomical portrait possesses obvious potential for legitimizing ritual forms. By sketching a picture of the world as naturally structured by categories and

relationships, the text implicitly portrays Nature as an analogue of ritual. This structural congruity between the logic of nature and ritual order is essential to the explicit

linkages between Natural principles and ritual li, detailed in the discussion of man's cosmic role, below. It is also of critical importance to the model of T'ien as the

basis of a normative human psychology, which we will discuss in connection with the "Treatise on T'ien."

"What makes man man?" asks the text. "The ability to make distinctions" (H:5.23­24):

In the proper course (tao) of human life, everything is according to distinctions. Among distinctions, none are more important than role distinctions (fen). Among role distinctions,

nothing is more important than li (H:5.28).

This notion is reflected throughout all sections of the text in the prevalent use of a taxonomic vocabulary. We hear frequently of "types" (lei), of "positions" or

"roles" (fen), of "rules" (fa) and "principles'' (lia"). And the Sage, we learn, is a man who "ties together" (t'ung) related things, who "grasps" (ts'ao), "strings

together" (kuan), "unifies" (yib), "orders" (lia), or "classifies" (lei).62

This position is most systematically presented in the analyses of knowing in the Cheng­ming ("Rectification of Names") chapter, which is commonly and correctly

viewed as a refutation of the methods of the School of Logicians, but whose implications are far broader.

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Cheng­ming constructs a model of the proper function of language on the basis of the claim that the role of "names" (generally, substance words) is to distinguish

differences in "realities" (shihe). 63 The world is pictured as a field of objects that are naturally ordered into sets on the basis of sameness (t'unga) and difference (yih).

Man is innately equipped to distinguish these two primal qualities.64

The things of the world interact at complex levels which parallel, in ascending order, the logic of names, compound words, discursive speech, and valid argument (in

the sense of expository theory). Hence, the structure of the world is reflected in the configuration of speech and of ideas expressed as doctrines.65 "[Valid] argument is

the mind creating an image of the Truth (tao)" (H:22.40).66

When the mind accords with the tao, doctrine accords with the mind, and words accord with doctrine, then names are rectified and properly combined, the essences of this are

understood, differences are distinguished without error, and distinctions according to type (lei) are extrapolated without contradictions; as one listens to [the Sage's] speech it is

consistent with the pattern of things (ho wen) and his arguments exhaust primitive reality (chin ku) (H:22.41­42).

Note that the ideal and empirical worlds have unexpectedly mingled here: words and speech find their ultimate reference in the tao rather than in the natural world.

This is not merely a digression in argumentation. It signals the primary function of the Hsun Tzu's theory of the world. Although the text outlines this theory in passages

of the Cheng­ming chapter where the argumentation is constrained to a value­free dimension, it applies that model and its terminology in ethical discussion. Outside

the core sections of logical argument, we see a shift in focus from theories about objects and about knowing to ethics, and the vocabulary of the former dimensions is

applied without modification to the latter dimension.

When we view the text as a whole, it is apparent that the terms "type" (lei) and "distinction" (pien) are used to refer less to objective entities than to situations,

behavior, and value. For example, the notion of object type is adapted directly to ethical action: ''That objects are manifest as particular types is due to their origins;

people encounter glory or shame according to their virtue" (H:1.13). Situations occur in classes: "In passing legal judgment, apply law where codified laws exist, and

where they do not, judge according to type" (H:9.13).67

The notion of making distinctions (pien), which is no more than a "true" perception of natural divisions in the constitution of the world, is inextricably linked to the idea

of creating proper order: "Making fair equity (p'ing­chün) universal, with all ordered according to their distinctions (chih­pien): in this the hundred kings were alike;

this is the great role (fen) of ritual and

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law (li­fa)" (H:11.63, 11.99). "Duties (fen) divided without disorder above; talents without exhaustion below: this is the ultimate of order according to

distinctions" (H:8.55).

This overlap between ethics and the text's ostensibly objective portrait of the world of things points to the doctrinal logic of the Hsun Tzu's model of reality. The

pivotal notion is that knowing is a recognition of class distinctions. 68 This is grounded in the text's portrait of a natural world constituted of qualitative categories. But

its central function is to support a description of Sage wisdom as the ability to classify situations according to their ethical implications and respond properly to them:

"to respond to things as they come, and distinguish the character of situations as they arise" (H:3.40, 21.93).

The educational and social context that fosters this skill of knowing is an environment that manifests ethical distinctions: the environment of ritual. "The li are the

foremost components of law and the guidelines of classification according to type" (H:1.28­29). "Li is the ultimate of order according to distinction" (H:15.78).69

In describing a world sliced into pieces and roles, and a human mind that learns truth by distinguishing classes, the Hsun Tzu designs rationalizing theories that make its

ritual ethics appear to be an analogue of Nature. By providing li with this structural affinity to Nature, it becomes possible to claim that ritual is an extension of Nature's

organizing principles, a claim that the Hsun Tzu does make, and which we will explore below.

3.2.

The Natural Logic of Social Forms

We noted earlier that the text of the Hsun Tzu opens with a paradox, and that paradox is central to the Hsun Tzu's rationalization of the natural value of non­natural li.

Nowhere is the method of argument from paradox more skillfully employed in this regard than in the Hsun Tzu's portrait of ritual hierarchy as a natural law of social

integration.

Two levels of paradox are involved. First, there is the counterintuitive anomoly that social differentiation is the root of social integration. "Unequal yet even, crooked

yet simple to follow, disparate yet a unity: such are human relations" (H:4.77).70

Second, and more important, is the notion that human social forms are the consequence of natural laws:

When allotments are all equal there is insufficiency; when authority is divided evenly there is disunity; when the multitudes are all equal there is no direction. There is sky (t'ien)

and there is earth, hence there is discrepency between what is above and below. . . . It is a natural rule (t'ien shu) that the equally eminent cannot

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serve one another and the equally humble cannot direct one another. . . . The former kings, loathing such disorder, fashioned ritual and propriety 71 to create distinctions [of rank]

(H:9.15­18).

A considerable portion of the Hsun Tzu is devoted to political discussion; chapters eight through sixteen—about one­quarter of the total text—form a coherent

subtext on Ruist political science.72 No theme is more dominant in this subtext than the critical role of li in politics: "The fate of individuals rests with T'ien; the fate of

states rests with li" (H:16.4).73

The power of the theme rests on the natural necessity of li. In chapter nine, Wang chih ("The Rule of the King"), the text portrays a "chain of being" that describes the

distinguishing innate power of man as his sense of yi, or propriety. Consequently, man alone is able to form social groups (ch'ün).74 "How is he able to form social

groups? By [creating social] divisions (fen). How do social divisions work? Through the sense of propriety'' (H:9.71).75

In chapter ten, Fu kuo ("Enriching the State"), the text expounds on the social powers of man by setting forth the basic dialectic that forces societies to take the shape

they do. "People desire and dislike the same things: when desires are many and goods are scarce, conflict is inevitable" (H:10.4­5). For society to succeed, goods

must be apportioned, and this is the function of social divisions. Social divisions distribute scarce resources among people without conflict, thus controlling their

naturally inexhaustable desires.76 "Human life cannot exist without social groups, but if groups lack divisions there is conflict; conflict leads to disorder, and disorder to

poverty" (H:10.22­23). Thus, the distinguishing characteristic of man as a natural being is his need and ability to form social groups. Social divisions are a necessary

condition for the realization of this ability.

The public manifestation of social division is ritual form. It is the vocabulary of social syntax. The trappings of ritual form—music, costume, decoration—perform the

function of "bringing to light the patterns of jen" (H:10.26).77 The tool that society's rulers use to elaborate ritual forms is economic surplus. The central thesis of Fu

kuo is that investment of social resources in ritual forms creates an efficient social order capable of producing the economic surplus necessary to further perfect the

ritual display of social structure.

Opposing the Mohist notion that scarce resources must be governed by an ethic of frugality, Fu kuo argues that the central issue is not the allocation of scarce

resources but the creation of plenty (H:10.47­71).78 This can be achieved through the perfection of social organization, a perfection only attainable through ritual

forms. "Thrift must be governed by li" (H:10.10). The cultivation of the insignia of status—fine houses, clothes, and foods—"is not motivated by extravagance"; it is

the means to creating efficient socio­

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economic order (H:10.26,10.30). The culmination of aesthetic elaboration in the figure of the ruler—the investment of resources in his material display—is not only the

duty of the ruler himself (H:10.60­63), but the natural desire of a populace creating abundance out of ritual order (H:10.32­35).

This type of theory is echoed in other chapters. The formula that appears in the Chün tao ("Way of the Ruler") chapter suggests a linkage to the text's taxonomic

portrait of the world: "The Sage King molds surplus to bring to light distinctions (pien­yi)" (H:12.53­54).

Non­natural ritual forms, then, are consequences of a natural process: the interaction of innate desire with an empirically given scarcity of resources. They are a meta­

natural phenomenon. This theory lies at the heart of the Hsun Tzu's political argument, and represents a virtuoso cooptation of naturalistic values in the defense of Ruist

interests. 79

3.3. The Cardinal Valuelessness of Human Nature

The Hsun Tzu has traditionally been best­known for its theory that human nature is innately evil, a view systematically expounded in its essay Hsing o ("The Evil of

Human Nature"). This celebrated doctrine bears directly upon our analysis of the role of T'ien in the text. So extensive is the secondary literature on the subject,

however, that I feel it is appropriate to make only a selective analysis of the doctrine here.80 It should be borne in mind that while the discussion here reflects a

dominant line of thought in the Hsun Tzu, important passages contradict it. The Wang­chih chapter's assertion that man can innately recognize propriety (yi) and the

section in the "Treatise on T'ien" that discusses man's T'ien­like qualities, point towards an evaluatively positive view of human nature. Nevertheless, the negative

assessment discussed here is more frequently encountered in the text and has been central to traditional interpretations of the Hsun Tzu.

The central tenet of the Hsun Tzu's theory of human nature (hsing) is that an examination of man's spontaneous behavioral dispositions reveals in them nothing of

inherent ethical value.81 That which is of ethical value in man's behavior is created through effort and artifice (wei) involving suppression of spontaneous dispositions.82

These efforts, for the Hsun Tzu, constitute a value created in the human sphere rather than by the action of Nature.83

The Hsun Tzu concludes that man's ethical role is to escape the limits of hsing through effort. This position is generally and correctly regarded as a refutation of the

Mencian theory of hsing, which holds that man's role is to develop his innate ethical potential. In Hsing o, Mencius is repeatedly attacked by name.

But the Hsun Tzu's position should also be viewed in contrast to doctrines of hsing found in some naturalistic texts. Naturalisms tended to value that which is untrained

and spontaneous in human behavior because it

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most directly expresses man's character as a product of Nature. Taoist texts, for example, glorify the image of primal man as a plain or uncarved block of wood: "Be a

flowing stream to the world; constant virtue unfragmented, you return to childhood. . . . Be a valley to the world: constant virtue fulfilled, you return to an uncarved

block" (TTC:28). "Together in ignorance, virtue unfragmented; together without desire: this is utter simplicity (su­p'u). In utter simplicity, the people fulfill their

hsing" (CT:9.1011). 84 The Hsun Tzu criticizes Chuang Tzu for his ethic of docile compliance with T'ien, or Nature (H:21.22­24). Its great stress on effort, wei,

seems an obvious response to the Tao te ching's doctrine of non­striving (wu­wei).85 And it attacks philosophers identified as Taoists for "giving free license to the

hsing'' (H:6.2­3).86

When we explore naturalistic chapters in texts such as the Kuan Tzu and Lü­shih ch'un­ch'iu, a similar ethic of spontaneity often appears, even in chapters that pay

lip service to Ruist­style li. The "Yangist" chapters of the Lü­shih ch'un­ch'iu place great emphasis upon "preserving" what T'ien endows: "He who nurtures what T'ien

gives birth to without injuring it is called the Son of T'ien" (LSCC: 1.4a).87 The "Sung­Yin" chapters of the Kuan Tzu— despite Ruist admixtures—convey a quietist

portrait of self­cultivation far closer to naturalistic than Ruist values.

Because the Hsun Tzu frequently denies any a priori ethical value to man's innate dispositions, the entire burden of endowing man with ethical understanding falls upon

a posteriori education. "Without a teacher and without rules, the mind of man is just his mouth and belly" (H:4.52).88 The ethical imperative for man is to "change

what is primitive (pien ku)" (H:4.49).89

Human teachers, human codes, human effort—this is where value lies for human beings. It is upon this theoretical foundation that Hsun Tzu builds a philosophy of

education that legitimizes the governing role of Ruist ritual forms.

3.4.

Educating the Sage

"The program of study begins with the chanting of texts and ends with the study of li; its significance is that one begins by becoming a gentleman and ends by becoming

a Sage" (H:1.26­27). No proposition was more central to legitimizing Ruist practice. An analysis of the instrumentality of Ruist doctrines would show that the vast

majority of them were designed ultimately to promote and defend this notion.

The Hsun Tzu's theory of human nature tells us that all ethical qualities are acquired through training. The totalistic model of Sagehood tells us that a person can be

transformed into an ethically omniscient, perfect being, who, "Sitting in his room sees all the world; living in today understands

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distant history" (H:21.41­42). 90 Thus, the text has raised the stakes of education very high; it is essential that the absolute value of li in education be persuasively

demonstrated.

The Hsun Tzu goes about this in various chapters and in various ways. At the theoretical base of its discussions of education lies a model of how and why learning

occurs. What goes on in learning is an interaction between the motivation of a plenitude of innate material urges and man's unique ability to make distinctions through

the organ of the mind. The fundamental distinctions the mind makes are judgments on whether options for action are ultimately appropriate for the purpose of gratifying

spontaneous urges. "Desires do not await possibilities of fulfillment; they are received from T'ien. [Methods of] pursuit [of gratification] (ch'iu) follow possibilities of

fulfillment; they are received from the mind (hsina)" (H:22.57­58).

As we saw above, if an individual develops according to his spontaneous nature, "his mind is just his mouth and belly" (H:4.52). This is a natural state of "narrow" (lou)

perception. As an individual is broadened by experience guided by teachers and rules, he learns fundamental lessons of deferred gratification and quality of

gratification.91

These are hard won lessons, learned gradually over human history and available to individuals through teachings and social culture. The accumulated teachings of the

Sages of history—the Poetry Documents, li, and music­these represent the distillation of human forethought, and thus can serve as guides to the world (H:4.66­68).

They are legitimized by their origins in extensive human experience.

Although the mind possesses the power to acquire knowledge through the interaction of mind's distinction­making capacity with spontaneous motivating urges, this

process is in itself insufficient. Without guidance, the distinction­making power of the mind operates randomly when faced with the plenitude of experience.

What man employs in knowing is his nature;92 what he can know are the principles of things (wu chih li). If one takes the nature by which one knows and pursues knowledge of

the principles of things without any limiting boundaries,93 then one could continue to the end of the world and never be complete. To penetrate a million principles falls far short

of bringing into coherence the changes of the world: it is the same as total ignorance (H:21.78­80).94

The natural world provides the mind with little or no guidance. That must be provided by the world of human society, with its long history of effort in thought.

Study is the study of limiting [the bounds of knowing].95 Where are the limits? In greatest amplitude. What do we mean by "greatest amplitude?" Sagehood. Sagehood

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is the exhaustive comprehension of relationships. And True Kingship is the fulfillment of good regulation (chihg) [of these]. . . . Thus in study, take the Sage Kings as teachers and

their regulations as rules. Follow their rules to penetrate their governing categories (t'ung­lei) and to emulate their persons (H:21.81­83).

The individual begins self­improvement by mastering the distilled excellence of human achievement: cultural codifications. These, and not natural structures, are the

embodiment of human value.

The Way (tao) of the former Kings is the exaltation of jen: cleave to the center in following it. What is the center? Rites and propriety. This way is not the way of T'ien, and not the

way of the earth; it is that which man takes as the Way, it is the Way trod by the chün­tzu (H:8.23­24).

The Ruist syllabus is the epitome of this Way:

The Sage is the Way's piper, and he sounds the Way to the world. The teachings of the hundred Kings are one in this; hence the Poetry and Documents, li and music all return to

this (H:8.65­66). 96

The notion of study as the delineation of the bounds of knowledge relates to our earlier discussion of the Hsun Tzu's taxonomic portrait of the world. As we noted

there, when the Hsun Tzu slices the world into pieces and principles, it does so not only for objective entities but for life conceived as situations and roles. This

analogous structure between natural and ethical worlds allows the Hsun Tzu to make an implicit but clear claim to the effect that ritual li embody intrinsic principles of

ethical existence fundamentally equivalent to principles of natural existence, or "lia."97 Ritual li are, in essence, the extension of natural principles into the human sphere.

This extension is signaled in the text in a number of ways. First, behavior according to norm is described as "according to principle (lia)."98 Second, the aesthetic forms

of ritual li are designated as "pattern­principles" (wen­li).99 ''The apotheosis of ritual li is a plentitude of principles of pattern and a scarcity of spontaneous

actions" (H:19.38). Finally, in a linkage of man and nature, ritual li are directly described as manifestations of principles of natural existence. "Music is the manifestation

of unchangeable harmonics; ritual li is the manifestation of unchangeable principle" (H:20.33).100

This brings us to the doctrine of human social forms as meta­natural phenomena.

3.5. Man's Cosmic Role

In its theory of human nature, the Hsun Tzu draws a clear demarcation between what belongs to the natural realm and what belongs to the human realm. The

phenomena of the physical world, up to and including that in

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man which "cannot be studied or reformed through effort" (H:23.11) belong to Nature. 101 That which is created on human initiative and which requires study to

master belongs to man The dichotomy of man and nature is a fundamental characteristic of reality.

But the division is in no way adversarial. The realms of nature and man form a continuum with a teleological direction. Man is Nature's complement in the creation of a

perfect universe. It is in this sense that the artifice of ritual society can be viewed as an extension of natural principle.

The distinguishing characteristic of man is his ability to make distinctions (pien). That ability differentiates man not only from animals, but also from Nature itself: "T'ien

can give birth to things; it cannot make distinctions among things (pien wu). . . . The universe of things and the human race awaited the coming of the Sage to be

assigned divisions (fen)" (H:19.78­79).

The portrait of the human component as the teleological completion of cosmic order is eloquently framed in the political essay, Wang chih:

Heaven and earth 102

are the source of life. Ritual and propriety are the source of order; the chün­tzu is the source of ritual and propriety. To practice these, penetrate their unity,

multiply them, and love them to the full is the source of becoming a chün­tzu, and the chün­tzu, orders (lia) heaven and earth. The chün­tzu, forms a trinity with heaven and earth:

he is the consummation of the world of things­the father and mother of the people. Without the chün­tzu, heaven and earth would be without order, ritual and propriety without

coherence (t'ung).103

. . . [The social roles of] ruler and minister, father and son, elder and younger brother, husband and wife—which begin and end and begin again anew—these are guided by the

same principles as heaven and earth, and are as eternal as the generations of the world (H:9.64­67).

We find, then, a level above both natural and human dimensions, a level from which the limits of both nature and man can be observed. From the perspective of that

level, nature and man are linked. This is the meta­natural level of the teleological cosmos.

The Hsun Tzu has no systematic metaphysical model hypostatizing this cosmic integration as a transcendental realm of reality, but the text occasionally comes close to

making one. For example, certain passages that speak of the Sage's ability to focus the mind and comprehend a unity behind the world's multiplicity describe this as

"penetrating the spiritual (shen­ming) and forming a trinity with heaven and earth" (H:8.111, 23.68­69; cf. 25.15­16). It may be that in these and in some other

instances, the terms "shen" or "shen­ming'' are meant to suggest a transcendental reality.104

Elsewhere, we seem to catch a glimpse of a transcendental realm called the "Great Oneness" (t'ai­yi) (H:19.25­27), a notion we will discuss in our concluding

chapter.

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Whether or not we posit a cosmic realm beyond nature and man, the fact remains that the human sphere, characterized by artifice and ritual, is pictured in the Hsun

Tzu simultaneously as an extension and as a transformation of the natural world, at least when the human world is governed according to Ruist prescripts. While the

human sphere is a development from Nature, it is qualitatively different. Such a model represents an argument against any direct use of Nature as a value standard, and

effectively legitimizes the Ruist exaltation of ritual forms.

Our survey of the most significant doctrines of the Hsun Tzu indicates that the diverse intellectual issues that the text addresses should be viewed in terms of an

overarching unity of theoretical and practical concern. The wide­ranging discussions of the Hsun Tzu should be understood largely as variations on a single basic

theme: the theoretical defense of li as a fundamental human value. That theme is, of course, closely linked to the core issue of pre­Ch'in Ruism: the preservation and

promotion of the ritual­centered lifstyle of the early Ruist community. In exploring any single theory or doctrine in the Hsun Tzu, such as the role that T'ien plays in the

text, the import of that doctrine must be expressed largely in terms of its relation to the core interest of the text: the defense of li.

4.

The Hsun Tzu's Theories of T'ien: The "Treatise on T'ien"

We turn now to direct analysis of the role of T'ien in the Hsun Tzu. Because of the length and complexity of the text, it is not practical to attempt to discuss each

instance in which the word "t'ien" occurs, as we were able to do in the cases of the Analects and the Mencius.

Our aim, then, will be this: to illustrate by a selective choice of passages in which "t'ien" appears that the Hsun Tzu embraces at least three different theories of

T'ien—the three theories described in the opening section of this chapter. They are:

1. The portrait of T'ien as nonpurposive, non­normative Nature. This theory responds to naturalistic ideas by claiming that T'ien­as­Nature cannot be a source of

ethical standards. Such standards must be sought in non­natural li.

2. A portrait of T'ien as Nature endowed with a clear, normative dimension. This theory pictures T'ien as the natural basis of the human ability to make ethical

distinctions and create ritual order. It complements passages that portray li not as non­natural phenomena, but as extensions of the structure of T'ien­as­Nature into

the human sphere. It answers the challenge of naturalism in a manner different from the

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preceding theory, in that it seeks to reconcile human ritual with the pre­human forms of biological Nature which, for naturalism, must be the ultimate source of

human value.

3. Usages of "t'ien" in senses other than Nature, which indicate the persistence in the Hsun Tzu of notions of T'ien as god, as fate, or as the direct basis of ritual

order—notions we have encountered earlier in the Analects and the Mencius.

These theories are, to a large degree, mutually contradictory. While it is true that so complex an area of speculation as the relationship between man and nature or

cosmos is always likely to generate philosophical confusions, the degree to which we can discern inconsistencies in the Hsun Tzu's portrait of T'ien more likely reflects

the indirect nature of the text's agenda. The Hsun Tzu, as with earlier Ruist texts, is not primarily concerned with the philosophical task of formulating consistent

metaphysical theory. For all its discussion of T'ien, T'ien is not the point. The primary concern is the legitimation of li, and the instrumental significance of all instances

of "t'ien" in the text is consistent, in that all serve the basic function of aiding the text in the task of legitimizing ritual forms and practice.

We have seen in earlier chapters that the word "t'ien" performs roughly similar functions in the Analects and in the Mencius. To overstate the case for clarity, each

text employs the word prescriptively as a source of or ethical basis for the system of aesthetic ritual conduct that lay at the heart of early Ruism, and descriptively to

suggest a teleological course of history that implied that the Ruist community should, for a time, be politically obscure in order that it be prepared to assume the world's

burdens when the times ripened for utopian reform.

We have already encountered in the Hsun Tzu an entirely different use of the word "t'ien." This usage denotes T'ien in a sense close to "Nature," and it signifies a

non­normative process of creativity in the material world. This process—this T'ien—is precisely what human beings should not use as a standard for measuring ethical

ideas and acts. It is nonpurposive, non­teleological, purely descriptive, and, unlike the descriptive aspect of T'ien in the Analects and Mencius, devoid of ethical

significance.

This is the most celebrated meaning of T'ien in the Hsun Tzu. It is a clear cooptation of the naturalistic schools' identification of T'ien and natural processes with the

aim of denying for those processes prescriptive meaning. 105

But this T'ien is not the only T'ien in the text. The Hsun Tzu uses a nonprescriptive T'ien in a negative way to legitimize ritual forms, but what is generally overlooked is

that it also uses a normative T'ien in a positive way to achieve the same end. Furthermore, the teleological interpretation

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of T'ien's descriptive role as an historical force does appear in the text, albeit very rarely. The text's use of "t'ien" thus includes not one but several dimensions, and

among these are some that are characteristic of the earlier Ruist texts.

In the sections which follow here, our primary, though not our sole source will be the "Treatise on T'ien," which is where the Hsun Tzu formulates its theories of T'ien

with most coherence. The "Treatise" is the single most extended discussion of T'ien in early Ruist texts, and an analysis of it in its entirety would not be out of place in a

study such as this. However, the "Treatise" alone contains so much material concerning T'ien that a complete exegesis in the course of the discussion here would serve

only to confuse the lines of analytical argument we are pursuing. For this reason, at this point we will deal only selectively with the "Treatise," referring the reader to an

annotated translation of the entire chapter, which appears as appendix C. Peripheral issues of various meanings of the word "t'ien'' are discussed in the notes to that

translation.

(Note that in the discussion which follows, references to major subsections of text within the "Treatise" are made by means of notation which appears in the appendix.

Thus, when reference is made to sections A, B, etc., the precise range of the reference can be located by consulting appendix C.)

4.1.

The Portrait of T'ien as Nonpurposive Nature

Beginnings tend to capture the attention, and the consensus view of the meaning of T'ien in the Hsun Tzu probably owes a great deal to the fact that the most forceful

presentation of that theory constitutes the initial section of the "Treatise on T'ien."

The first section of the "Treatise" describes T'ien as an uncompromisingly non­normative, descriptive entity or process. It is nonpurposive, predictable within limits, and

indifferent to man.

T'ien's ways are constant: it does not prevail due to Yao; it does not perish due to Chieh. Respond to it with order and good fortune follows; respond to it with disorder and ill

fortune follows (H:17.1).

The passage continues by raising examples that may have either political or personal significance:

Bring nurturance to completion and act only when the time is ripe, and T'ien cannot sicken. Cultivate the Way without irresolution and T'ien cannot devastate (H:17.2).

The section brings home a central point: events in the human sphere that have ethical significance are meaningful in an evaluative sense pre­

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cisely because they are the consequence of human action, rather than action by T'ien­as­Nature. For example, in the case of misrule and disorder:

Though the seasons revolve as they do in ordered times, disaster and devastation arise unlike in ordered times. T'ien cannot be blamed; it is a consequence of the path [chosen by

man] (H:17.5).

The arguments of section A should be taken as a response to contemporary schools of thought that posited that political success and failure are the consequences of

either long­term influences of nonpurposive natural forces or or circumstantial consequences of supernatural purpose manifest through nature. 106

The political argument of section A is resumed in section D (H:17.19­22), which claims that T'ien has no influence over whether states are well or poorly ruled. Further

on, in section H (H:17.34­6), well­crafted arguments against omenology and shamanism make a similar point concerning the lack of influence of human religious rites

on events in Nature.

Throughout all of these sections (A, D, and H), T'ien is nonpurposive, descriptive, and very close to what we mean by "Nature." These passages form the heart of the

Hsun Tzu's celebrated naturalization of T'ien. We note them here in order to highlight by contrast very different notions of T'ien that appear in subsequent sections of

the "Treatise," notions far less celebrated, but in many ways more revealing of the text's central goals.

4.2. T'ien as Prescriptive Psychology

The second section of the "Treatise" is the longest and by far the most difficult to understand. Although it is relatively free of textual corruptions, its language is at times

so vague that, in one case at least, an entire article has been written to interpret a single phrase (Kodama 1972). I believe that key portions of this section have been

misunderstood. As I interpret them, these passages attempt to forge a link between two species of T'ien: a descriptive naturalistic T'ien and a prescriptive metaphysical

T'ien, whose action man can and should emulate or, more precisely, fulfill. The linkage is designed to legitimize ritual study and discredit empirical investigation. My

belief that the Hsun Tzu's view of T'ien is more complex and typically Ruist than has been previously noted rests in large part on the interpretation of section B which

follows.

Section B opens with a characterization of T'ien described by its manifest works: "That which is accomplished without action, obtained without pursuit: that belongs to

the office of T'ien" (H:17.6). Man is urged to recognize the demarcation between the realm of human action and the realm of

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T'ien's action and not to attempt to interfere in the action of T'ien. This the text calls "not contesting office with T'ien" (H:17.7).

All of this echoes the final sentence of section A:"He who understands the distinct roles of T'ien and man may be called the perfect man," but it does not carry forward

the political frame of reference that pervades the language of section A.

After an intervening passage that gives a cosmological description of the action of T'ien (and which is very likely to be a later commentary insert, see appendix C, note

10), the text returns to pick up the thread of the "office of T'ien":

With the office of T'ien settled and the work of T'ien accomplished, the physical form is intact and the spirit is born. Love, hate, pleasure, anger, grief, and joy are assembled

therein: these are called the "T'ien­like dispositions" (H:17.10­11).

At this point, the text embarks upon a portrait of man's psychology and ethical constitution that links man's natural being with the action of T'ien. The portrait occupies

the remainder of section B. It forms the core of the text's portrait of T'ien as a normative natural force. The distinction between the non­normative T'ien of section A

and the normative T'ien of section B is the main point I want to illustrate in this discussion of the "Treatise."

It is in the description of man as a set of T'ien­like components, beginning at H:17.11, that the text begins to bridge the gap between non­normative T'ien and ethically

perfectable man. As we read, we see T'ien gradually extend from human faculties properly regarded as value­free to ethically significant aspects of man:

The ears, eyes, nose, mouth, and body have their [realms of sensual] encounter without duplicative ability: these are called the "T'ien­like faculties." The mind dwells in the vacant

center and thereby governs the five faculties: it is called the "T'ien­like ruler" (H:17.11­12).

We are clearly moving here toward a normative use of "t'ien," and this is at odds with theories found elsewhere in the Hsun Tzu. 107 Note that in the description of

the T'ien­like dispositions above, "desire" (yü), a term with generally negative evaluative overtones, does not appear. This is surprising, in light of the major role which

"desire" plays elsewhere in the characterization of man's innate nature.108 Note, too, the association of T'ien with the operation of the mind, which possesses the ability

to make distinctions and refine desires. Elsewhere in the text, the capabilities of the mind are assigned to the human rather than the natural sphere. While the mind is

naturally innate, its governing function is characteristic of human training. Without training, the mind is precisely the mouth and the belly (H:4.52); until it

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learns the art of concentration it is "without discrimination" (H:21.46­47). 109

Section A of the "Treatise" prepared us for a theory stressing the sharp division of T'ien and man, but here T'ien has spread rather thoroughly through man's being.

With the ascription of a governing role to the T'ien­like ruling mind, the term "T'ien­like" is clearly bordering on a normative sense.

The two phrases that follow are, I believe, the most crucial to understanding this section of the "Treatise." They also present great exegetical difficulties. My

interpretation differs sharply from previous commentaries and translations. Let me give it here, preceded by the translations of Chan and Watson:110

To plan and use what is not of one's kind to nourish one's kind—this is called "natural nourishment." To act in accord with [the principle and nature of] one's own kind means

happiness, and to act contrary to [the principle and nature of] one's own kind means calamity. This is called natural government (Chan 1963:118).

Food and provisions are not of the same species as man, and yet they serve to nourish him and are called heavenly nourishment. He who accords with what is proper to his

species will be blessed; he who turns against it will suffer misfortune. These are called the heavenly dictates (Watson 1963:81).

[The mind] molds things not of its species in order to nurture its species: this is called "T'ien—like nurturance." It judges (weia) things which accord with their species to be

fortunate and judges things which discord with their species to be ill fortuned: this is called "T'ien­like rule" (H:17.12­13).

The most obvious difference here is that Chan and Watson interpret the interest of the entire passage as shifting abruptly from a psychological to a social or political

focus. Aside from creating a problem of lack of continuity, their interpretations pose other problems. For example, they read the text as raising a somewhat irrelevant

point: that man feeds on things not of his own species. This seems hardly worth mentioning unless the passage is meant to do little other than to make a list of things

that can be assigned the name "T'ien­like" or "natural." A further problem of significance arises immediately below, where misguided people are characterized as

forsaking their "T'ien­like nourishment," a charge that is difficult to understand if we abide by Chan and Watson.

Moreover, both Chan and Watson (particularly Watson) fail to deal successfully with the word "weia" in the second phrase. "T'ien­like rule," if we follow the text,

does not mean that things will encounter good or bad fortune according to the degree to which their actions accord with their proper roles; it means that human

judgment should be passed on the value of conduct according to this rule.

To deal with the issue of continuity first, continuity can be partially

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restored to the passage by making the "T'ien­like ruler" the grammatical subject of these phrases. 111 If we posit the mind as subject, we are at least able to suggest a

formal extension of the psychological focus. But this does not eliminate other problems. The sudden political admixture remains, as does the problem of philosophical

vacuity.

The solution lies in understanding the use of the terms "mold" and "nurturance" in the first phrase of the passage.

The word for "mold" is "ts'aia": "riches," or "riches of nature'' (cognate "ts'ai"). Commentary tradition has correctly taken this verbal usage as a loan for "ts'aic": "to

cut cloth," with the sense of "adapt objects for use.112 Watson, Chan, and most other commentators, take the notion of "ts'ai wu" to refer to agriculture. This renders

the current passage of little interest. In fact, "ts'ai wu" here refers us to an entirely different notion, one of great philosophical interest.

We find a notion that appears several times in the Hsun Tzu to the effect that the man who simply gratifies his spontaneous desires in the end becomes the servant of

things (yi yü wu), but the Sage makes objects serve him (yi wu). This theme appears in the Hsiu shen and Cheng ming chapters (H:2.20, 22.82­88), and in each

instance is associated with the notion of "nurturance" (yang). (A similar association appears in the Kuan Tzu, confirming the importance of the theme.) 113 Although

the phrase "yi wu" does not appear in the specific phrases we are discussing here, it does appear soon thereafter. Toward the end of section B, we are indeed told

that the outcome of fulfilling one's T'ien­like qualities is that "the things of the world will serve you (wan­wu yi)" (H:17.15). The description of "molding things" clearly

seems to refer not to agriculture but to this ideal, and it denotes the exercise of human control over the world for ethical human purposes.

In several other places, the Hsun Tzu touches on the notion of molding things for nurturance, and these instances can enlighten our reading of the "Treatise." In some of

these instances, the meaning of "molding things" (ts'ai wu) might be limited to the economic notion of husbandry for subsistance (e.g. H:6.18, 8.13, 9.54), and these

would tend to support traditional interpretations of the phrase as used in the "Treatise." But the term is also used in a broader sense to refer to the appropriation of

surplus resources to enhance the human condition through the creation of ritual social forms: "The Sage molds (ts'aia) economic surplus to make distinctions

manifest" (H:12.53­54). Ritual social forms, in turn, create the order necessary to increase economic productivity and further ritualize society (H:9.71­74; 10.30­

31).114 (These issues are discussed in more detail in section 3.2 above.)

As for the notion of "nurturance," this word too refers frequently to ritual cultivation, rather than agricultural subsistence, as in the doctrine that

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nurturance of the mind and bodily spirit (ch'i) is most effectively achieved through ritual study (H:2.18). The Hsun Tzu fully articulates this facet of ritual in its

systematic discussion of the doctrine that li is nurturance per se:

The former kings detested the [natural] chaos [of human relations], and so fashioned ritual and propriety in order to create distinctions among people, to nurture their desires,

provide them their wants . . . thus li is nurturance (H:19.2­3).

Here, "nurturing desires" means something close to "cultivating tastes"; that is, refining natural urges so that they find satisfactions within the measured bounds of ritual

society. It does not signify the base satisfaction of desire, but rather the molding of human dispositions in order to create a more perfect social being. Thus, fine foods

nurture the palate, fine perfumes nurture the sense of smell, fine carvings and patterns nurture the eye, and so forth. (H:19.3­5). In short, ''Ritual and propriety, pattern

and principle are the means by which natural dispositions are nurtured" (H:19.10). Nurturance, then, does not signify mere subsistance, but a process of self­

transformation through cultivation of the sensual self. It is not sustenance but growth. 115

Returning to the phrase at issue—"the mind molds things not of its species in order to nurture its species"—we may interpret it as meaning that the mind has the

capacity to direct the appropriation of the things of the world in order to cultivate the innate dispositions and faculties, thereby accomplishing the improvement of the

human species. This clearly normative ability, replete with ritual significance is called "T'ien­like nurturance," which is the ability of the human mind to transform the

nature of the human species into an ethical object.

The passage then proceeds to describe how the human mind goes on to create value in a concrete way; it grounds ethical judgments by measuring human actions

against this evolving species description. This may sound unduly sophistic, but its simple sense can be made clear by paraphrasing the entire passage: The mind

appropriates the riches of the nonhuman world in order to refine the human species; it then defines propitiousness according to the degree to which individuals act in

accordance with this refined species ideal.116

Such a portrait of human capacities, with its clear functionality in supporting ritual self­cultivation against naturalistic challenges, makes perfect sense in a text such as

the Hsun Tzu. What is somewhat surprising is that these capacities should be called "T'ien­like," in view of the Hsun Tzu's restriction of the meaning of "t'ien"

elsewhere to non­normative Nature. It is quite clear that "t'ien" is used here as a normative term, and the

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traditional rhetorical authority of the word is being employed to bring legitimacy to a theory of the "natural" psychological origins of ritual society. T'ien has crossed the

boundary between human nature (hsing) and human effort (wei). It is no longer confined to the narrow limits of instinct that man must transcend, but now plays a role

in normative social capacities that man—in a Mencian fashion—must aspire to fulfill.

We can summarize section B to this point: the operation of T'ien as Nature creates the forms of the world, one of which is man. Man possesses innately a set of T'ien­

like organs and capacities, which includes spontaneous dispositions, sense faculties, intellect, and the power of the intellect to delineate man's species character by

using the objects of the world to train and refine his dispositions and faculties and to form ethical value judgments on the basis of this self­created species role.

The "Treatise" goes on to link the fulfillment of these capacities to the teleological notion of the "completion of T'ien's work":

To darken one's T'ien­like ruler, disorder one's T'ien­like faculties, forsake one's T'ien­like nurturance, discord with one's T'ien­like rule, contravene one's T'ien­like dispositions,

and so dissipate T'ien's work: this is called "greatest evil." The Sage clears his T'ien­like ruler, rectifies his T'ien­like faculties, fulfills his T'ien­like nurturance, follows his T'ien­like

rule, nurtures his T'ien­like dispositions, and so brings completion to T'ien's work (H:17.13­15).

"Completing T'ien's work" echoes the homily: "Heaven and earth give birth to it, the Sage completes it" (H:10.39, 27.35),117 summarizing the cosmic role of ritual

social action described earlier in this chapter.

The final passage of section B reformulates this lesson in language that recalls the discussion of the office of T'ien.

Thus if one understands what he is to do and not to do, then heaven and earth will fulfill their proper functions and the things of the world will serve him. Acts fully ruled,

nurturance fully realized, in life suffering no agony: this is called "knowing T'ien." Thus the greatest craft lies in acts not taken, the greatest wisdom in thoughts not pondered

(H:17.15­16).

The passage is suggestive not only of the "Treatise's" division of the offices of T'ien and man, but of the Hsun Tzu's theory of education. Recall that for the Hsun Tzu,

study produces wisdom not through the random accumulation of empirical facts, but by "limiting" the vision of the student to those lessons that are of value to man

(H:21.78­83). The student's goal is not to broaden his knowledge, but to "unify'' it (H:1.43­45): to learn "linkage" (H:1.46), "classification" (H:2.37), and "penetration"

to an elevated, totalistic viewpoint (H:8.111, 15.57, 23.69).

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According to the "Treatise," then, this limitation of vision to man's ethical missions of self­cultivation and transformation of the world is a fulfillment of all that is T'ien­

like in him: it is the realization of a teleology implicit in the Nature that gives birth to man. This is the Ruist way to know T'ien, and it stands in sharp distinction to the

cosmological speculations of a Tsou Yen, to the spiritualistic manipulations of a shaman or diviner, to regimens of breath control or diet, or to the Taoist ideal of

nonpurposive spontaneity.

It also stands in contrast to ideas found elsewhere in the Hsun Tzu, for in extending what is T'ien­like in man to include his powers of ritual self­transformation, the

"Treatise" resembles the Analects and the Mencius far more than some of the Hsun Tzu's other essays, such as Jung­ju ("Glory and Shame"), Cheng­ming, and

Hsing o, where the action of a non­normative T'ien­as­Nature is specifically excluded from the normative aspects of the human psyche.

We can conclude, then, that the Hsun Tzu displays major inconsistencies in its theories of T'ien. We encountered similar inconsistencies in the Analects and the

Mencius, and once again we should read them as confirmation that the motivation giving rise to these theories was not an abstract philosophical interest in T'ien, but a

need to manipulate theories of T'ien to serve more concrete Ruist interests.

4.3.

Forming a Trinity with Heaven and Earth

Earlier in this chapter we discussed the Hsun Tzu's theory that ritual social forms, li, are, at root, merely extensions of principles of nature, lia, which govern every

aspect of the cosmos. In this theory, Nature, or T'ien­as­Nature, is tied to the normative dimensions of ritual social behavior.

In the "Treatise on T'ien," there is a second dimension to the portrait of T'ien as a normative natural force, apart from the psychological model laid out in section B,

and it relates closely to the notion of the continuity between natural principles and ritual forms.

This dimension appears in section E of the "Treatise,"" 118 a section that enlarges upon a statement that appears earlier, in section A, 119 to the effect that man has the

capacity to "form a trinity with heaven and earth."

The notion of the trinity is a pervasive one in the Hsun Tzu. The formula is explicitly stated in eight different essays (H:3.13­14, 8.111, 9.65, 13.46, 17.7, 23.69,

25.13, 26.6, 26.11), and triadic comparisons between heaven, earth, and the Sage appear elsewhere (e.g., H:1.50­51, 6.31 19.36).120 The formula employs

"heaven and earth," the equivalent of T'ien,121 as a prescriptive model of perfection for man to match, and thus gives T'ien a normative sense, again somewhat

inconsistent with statements rejecting T'ien as a source of value. The "Treatise" makes this normative dimension explicit by

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portraying the disinterested action of T'ien described in section A from a different perspective, one that finds moral meaning in what had seemed to be a phenomenon

outside the sphere of value:

Heaven does not suspend winter because people dislike cold; earth does not contract its breadth because people dislike [traveling] great distances; the chün­tzu does not curtail

his actions because of the clamor of petty people. Heaven has a constant way; earth has constant progressions; the chün­tzu has constancy of person (H:17.22­24).

Heaven and earth, in the sense of Nature, are prescriptive ideals that reinforce the chün­tzu's assurance of the value of constant ethical action. Just what that action

consists of is spelled out by a citation from a lost poem:

The chün­tzu takes what is constant as his way; the petty man calculates his credits. The Poetry says: "[Undeviating in ritual and right], why be concerned what others may

say?" (H:17.24). 122

Interestingly, then, Nature is being used here as a prescriptive model ensuring the value of non­natural li. This is the paradox of the "trinity" throughout the text; it is just

where man most radically departs from Nature that he gains the power to be Nature's equal.

Although in section E, the trinity model serves to legitimize li only indirectly, elsewhere in the "Treatise" it is used in a slightly different way to support a claim for the

value of li:

In heaven, nothing shines more brightly than the sun and moon; on earth, nothing shines more brightly than water and fire; among objects, nothing shines more brightly than

pearl and jade; amidst humanity, nothing shines more brightly than ritual and propriety (H:17.40­41).

This sort of mechanistic parallelism, which brings Nature to the support of li, appears in other essays of the Hsun Tzu with somewhat more provocative metaphysical

implications. For example, the Wang chih chapter, which draws parallels between Sage government and the action of Nature, holds that social roles exemplify the

same principles that govern the patterns of heaven and earth (H:9.67; translated in section 3.5 above). A passage in the Li­lun ("Treatise on Li") makes a similar claim

for the cosmic basis of li (H:19.26). Such passages suggest an underlying ambivalence in the Hsun Tzu's stress upon the ethical dichotomy of T'ien and man.

The content of T'ien­as­Nature—its ethical valuelessness as manifest in man's innate nature—is the negative model away from which man must

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aspire to climb. But the grandeur and perfection of T'ien as Nature nevertheless serves as a positive model, and represents the goal of human aspiration. T'ien, like

Sagehood, embraces in a totalism all worldly phenomena. The Sage, like T'ien, "embraces the universe within him" (H:21.43). 123 Nature is what man must transcend

to become ethical, yet the greatest of goals toward which man can strive is to become Nature's equal.

4.4.

T'ien as a Historical Force

The Portrait of T'ien as a normative force of the natural world is the most important theoretical departure from the theory of a non­normative T'ienas­Nature that

commentators have long represented as the sole "theory of T'ien" in the Hsun Tzu. The two theories—T'ien as non­normative Nature and as a normative natural

force—are fundamentally contradictory, but they are consistent in that both are designed to counter the devaluation of nonnatural li by contemporary naturalisms. The

first denies the possibility of finding value in the natural sphere, the second posits an essential continuity between normative nature and normative ritual behavior.

In the following sections, we will complete our analysis of the role of T'ien in the Hsun Tzu by examining other meanings of T'ien in the text, in particular, meanings that

apparently have little or nothing to do with Nature. We will see that scattered throughout the text are uses of "t'ien" in a variety of traditional, and mutually inconsistent

senses. These instances will reinforce the conclusion that forging a consistent theory of T'ien was by no means a primary concern of the Hsun Tzu. T'ien was a

malleable notion, embracing an evolving variety of possible meanings. The Hsun Tzu, like other Ruist texts, used the term t'ien in any sense consistent with its primary

motive of legitimizing li and perpetuating the Ruist ritual community. In this section, we will examine passages in the "Treatise" and elsewhere where T'ien appears to

have a descriptive sense close to the notion of "fate."

In both the Analects and the Mencius, T'ien was pictured descriptively as a teleological force of history, directing a flow of events that rationalized the contemporary

political submergence of Ruism as a preparatory phase, to be ended when the times were ready for the Ruist school to grasp the reins of government and lead man

toward a ritual utopia. This philosophical message was linked in both texts to the individual political failures of Confucius and Mencius, who constituted the literary foci

of those texts.

The Hsun Tzu is a different sort of book. Hsun K'uang is by no means a focus of the text, and even when he makes an infrequent appearance, his personal history is

not relevant.124 His persona is merely a vehicle for rhetorical expression. Nor is other history of great moment to the text,

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except as philosophical grist: the book is profoundly ahistorical, totally free of narrative.

This formal aspect of the Hsun Tzu probably accounts, in large part, for the general absence of any portrait of T'ien as a descriptive historical force. Moreover, unlike

the other texts, in the Hsun Tzu we miss the implicit audience of disciples that lies behind even the most context­free proverbs of the Analects and Mencius. Without

the context of disciples, an important dimension of the need to rationalize Ruism's political failures is missing: the need to encourage disciples by assuring them of T'ien's

teleological plan.

A very few chapters, such as Ch'eng­hsiang and Fu, do seem to provide such an implicit audience—though their relation to Hsun K'uang is questionable. 125 And in

the latter chapter, sure enough, we do encounter the teleological T'ien of the other texts in a poignant rhyme:

Oh dark is the world, plunged so in blindness,

Should T'ien's light not return my cares will be boundless.

A new start every thousand years, so goes the ancient rule;

Disciples, study hard! T'ien will not forget you!

The Sage clasps his hands; the time is almost come (H:26.31­3).

These lyrics reflect better than any text I know the political alienation of the Warring States Ru and their consequent faith in T'ien's teleological direction. But elsewhere

in the text the portrait of T'ien as a historical actor is rarely glimpsed.

In section E of the "Treatise on T'ien" we encountered an injunction reminiscent of Confucius' admonitions to disciples to exemplify forbearance in the face of society's

hostility to right Ruist action: "The chün­tzu does not curtail his actions because of the clamor of petty people." It goes on to speak of the chün­tzu's adoption of what

is "constant" as his guide.

A similar formula appears in the Jung­ju chapter, and there the issue of just reward for moral action is closer to the surface:

Jen and yi, virtuous conduct: these are the arts of constant security; nevertheless, they do not guarantee that one will never be in danger. Deviousness, lying, violence, and

thievery are the arts of constant danger; nevertheless, they do not guarantee that one will never be comfortable. Thus it is that the chün­tzu takes as his way what is constant

(ch'ang) while the petty person takes as his way what is accidental (kuai) (H:4.41­42).

Thus, the Hsun Tzu clearly holds, with other Ruist texts, that right conduct is, in the "usual" course of things, eventually rewarded. It recognizes, however, that

circumstances frequently dictate other results.

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In section F of the "Treatise on T'ien" the injunction to act according to prescript despite consequent social obscurity is related to T'ien, here clearly portrayed as a

historical force:

That the king of Ch'u may have a retinue of a thousand chariots does not mean that he is wise. That a chün­tzu may have only beans to eat and water to drink does not mean that

he is stupid. These are due to the rhythms of circumstance. To be refined in purpose, rich in virtue, and clear in thought; to live in the present but be devoted to the past—these

things are within one's power. The chün­tzu attends to what is within his power and does not aspire to that which is within the power of T'ien alone. The petty person defaults on

what is within his power and aspires to that which is within the power of T'ien alone. Thus the chün­tzu . . . goes forward day by day, and the petty person . . . goes backward day

by day . . . (H:17.24­28).

T'ien here has nothing to do with Nature. It is a controlling force that determines the "rhythms of circumstance" (chieh) a term whose meaning is virtually

indistinguishable from "ming": "fate." It is, in fact, defined elsewhere in the text as "ming" (H:22.6; see HTCC: 11.28). The passage brings out the ethical gulf

between Ruist prescript and T'ien­guided history in a manner closely resembling the earlier Ruist texts (A:14.35; M:7A3).

The significance of the passage has been generally misinterpreted. 126 Once understood, it is clear that T'ien is used descriptively, but not in the sense of non­

purposive Nature. In itself, the passage does not provide enough information for us to say that the Hsun Tzu, like the Analects and Mencius, rationalized the

descriptive role of T'ien in history through a teleological model. However, if we were to take it together with the passage from Jung­ju cited above, which holds that

good conduct generally yields material rewards in life, then we could claim that T'ien's action in controlling events in the amoral mode of the Hsun Tzu's day was

viewed by the Hsun Tzu as unusual and the unfavorable times seen as an aberration in an ethical order. If we go further and add here the millennial passage in the Fu

chapter, we can claim a skeletal teleology that pictures the late Chou as a "last times," much as the Mencius does (M:2B. 13). Although the doctrine is rarely glimpsed

in the Hsun Tzu—which might be function of the text's chosen style of abstract and seemingly objective argumentation—instances in other chapters confirm that a

teleological role for T'ien is an occasional undertone (H:2.44­45, 8.50­51, 27.75, 28.33­34).

4.5. Miscellaneous T'iens

For additional meanings of T'ien, we have to look outside the "Treatise on T'ien." With our analysis of section F we have encountered the last instance of a major new

usage in that chapter.127 Interestingly, T'ien is not mentioned in the Treatise after section L (H:17.46), and the final portion of

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the Treatise is largely a discussion of the value of li, a shift in topic that should seem intelligible in light of the close connections we have seen between the text's theories

of T'ien and its interest in li.

As we look through the entire text of the Hsun Tzu, searching for instances where "t'ien" is employed in ways other than those predicted by the consensus view of

the text, we find most frequently examples of "t'ien" being used in the sense of a deity. Ikeda Suetoshi has identified these passages (1965:20), and the list he has

compiled includes nine such instances in seven chapters. 128 Ikeda maintains that these passages are evidence that the primary theory of T'ien in the text is a belief in

T'ien as a god, but this clearly goes too far. While passages such as, "T'ien gave birth to the teeming multiudes" (H:4.25), and, "In li, one serves T'ien above and the

earth below" (H:19.15), clearly demonstrate that the notion of T'ien as god was intelligible to the authors and readers of the Hsun Tzu, its use in the text is primarily

rhetorical, not theoretical.

A somewhat more intriguing usage of t'ien, appears in the Ta lüeh ("Great Summation") chapter. Were it not that Ta lüeh falls on the edge of the range of chapters we

are treating as the "core" of the text, I would stress this usage, as it fits into my overall theory of Ruism with great elegance.

In Ta lüeh, the word "t'ien" twice occurs in the compound "t'ien­fu": "the storehouse of T'ien." The "storehouse" is defined thus: ''The breadth of the six arts is the

storehouse of T'ien" (H:27.79),129 and, "Ever studying without surfeit, unceasingly loving the [example of] gentlemen: this is the storehouse of T'ien" (H:27.94­95).

The imagination need not roam far to see the ethical perfection of any and all traditional T'iens suffusing the syllabus and membership of the Ruist study group.

Summary

The role of T'ien in the Hsun Tzu differs significantly from its role in the Analects and Mencius in that a portrait of T'ien as non­normative Nature is introduced.

Despite the innovation that this portrait represents for Ruism, its role has been overstressed by most commentators.

The description of T'ien as Nature was not original to the Hsun Tzu. Similar doctrines appear in the texts of several naturalistic schools, and some of these, the

Chuang Tzu "Inner Chapters" for instance, clearly predate the Hsun Tzu. Nor is this the only dimension to T'ien in the Hsun Tzu. T'ien is used in a normative way to

legitimize Ruist devotion to ritual. In some instances, T'ien as Nature is interpreted normatively as the source of man's ability to transform himself from a being

characterized by desires to one governed by style and principle. This is the meaning of section B of the "Treatise on T'ien." In other instances, nonpurposive Nature is

portrayed as

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an exemplar of perfection that can form a model for man's effort to achieve a distinctive perfection: the ethical perfection exemplified by ritual order. This is the

doctrine of man's potential to form a trinity with heaven and earth. In a few instances, T'ien appears to play a teleological historical role, and its descriptive action is

used in formulas that exhort adherence to Ruist prescript.

The overriding point about the role of T'ien in the Hsun Tzu is that regardless of whether T'ien is pictured as nonpurposive Nature, as a normative natural force, as

fate, or as a purposive deity, its instrumental function remains always the same—to legitimize ritual forms, ritual study, and ritual society. The sense of T'ien as Nature

predominates in the text because such a usage provided the most effective way to respond to the challenges to ritual presented by the ethical valuation of Nature

characteristic of contemporary naturalism. T'ien­as­Nature, in itself, is not an object of interest to the Hsun Tzu, as the text makes explicit. It is li that is of interest,

and T'ien is addressed only to the degree that contemporary theories of T'ien affect li.

The instrumental use of T'ien in a framework legitimizing li is a characteristic Ruist usage, closely resembling the role played by T'ien in the Analects and Mencius. It

also integrates the Hsun Tzu's theories of T'ien with its other major theories: its theories of the world of things and of knowing, its political theory and its theory of

education. All these areas of theory join in the text to complete a central mission: the development of a coordinated theoretical rationalization of li. On the basis of such

an array of theories, the late Chou Ruist community could persevere in their unique ritual practices without fear that they would ever be unarmed in defending their

eccentric lifestyle against philosophical attack.

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CONCLUSIONSAGEHOOD AND PHILOSOPHY

When this study was begun several years ago, it was with a simple goal: to find a unity underlying multiplicity in the meanings of "t'ien" in early Ruist texts. In the

continuities of instrumental meanings we have found in the Analects, Mencius, and Hsun Tzu, we have at least partially achieved that goal.

But in the course of the study, the notion of unity has been more consistently applicable to what might be a far more philosophically interesting aspect of early Ruism

than T'ien: the ideal of Sagehood. Indeed, Sagehood was the dominant issue of early Ruism, and we have discovered in the course of this study that in many ways the

meaning of T'ien was always a function of the Ruist commitment to that ideal. Consequently, in this concluding chapter, we will examine once again the ideal of

Sagehood in terms of its concrete implications for Ruist thought and practice, and also in terms of our own philosophical interests, as delineated in the introduction.

We close this study, then, with a short summary analysis of early Ruist Sagehood, with the particular aim of getting beyond explicit doctrine in order to glimpse the

experiential basis that led Ruists to establish this ideal and to pursue it with so deep a commitment. It is the connection between this experiential basis and the synthetic

form of Ruist philosophy that ultimately constitutes the philosophical nature of Ruism and makes plausible the claim that a school that was grounded in the ascription of

cardinal value to accidental patterns of social custom can be considered philosophical.

To place this analysis in perspective, we will begin with a brief overview of the main outlines of this study that have led us to this point.

A Philosophical Recap

If we were to select a single philosophical theme to summarize the significance of what we have found in this study, it would be this: skills or skill systems are central to

determining meaning and truth for individuals, and the philosophical energy of Ruism was devoted to tailoring every disciple's repertoire of skills to determine how he

would see meanings and truth in

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the world. In this sense, Ruism was quintessentially a synthetic philosophy: its methodology lay not in an eloquence of syllogistic reasoning, but in an elegance of

educational design.

Fung Yu­lan once observed that Chinese philosophy, "as far as regards dialectical method and elucidation, holds a humble position when compared with the

philosophies of the West or of India" (1931:8). While enthusiasts of Mohism or the early school of logicians might disagree, this statement is certainly true for early

Ruism, whose texts are filled with arguments from authority, specious reasoning, and logical gaps. Ruists were, in fact, doctrinally hostile toward analytic rigor in

argument; they tended to view it principally as a means of obscuring rather than elucidating truth. 1

The rigor of Ruism did not lie in its analytic proof of philosophical claims. It lay instead in the care with which it designed a system of education that made those claims

seem self­evidently true to the trained disciple. This is what a "synthetic philosophy" must do: it must organize the way in which synthetic thought is generated (see the

discussion in the introduction). Its articulate doctrine merely describes insights that follow. Proof cannot lie in analysis; it must lie in duplicating the governing skill

matrix.

In chapter II, we examined in some detail the Ruist syllabus that generated the skill systems governing Ruist Truth. We saw that the syllabus was varied and specific.

Mohists complained that the syllabus could not be mastered in a lifetime (MT, Fei Ju:9.21a). Yet despite its breadth, Ruist education was unified by the central theme

of self­cultivation through li: the ritualization of the self through progressive mastery of an ancient choreography of daily life. Once the thread of self­ritualization had

been grasped, individual lessons and skills could be strung upon it. As the Hsun Tzu puts it, Ruist education does not lie in broadening knowledge, but in unifying it

(H:1.4445).

The Hsun Tzu also tells us that education lies in learning limits (H:21.81), and this has a particularly apt application to Ruist ritual education. It is easy to overlook the

fact that the basis of Ruist education, li, consisted of rules rather than skills, while the ultimate goal of Ruist education was not knowledge of rules but skill in action.

This suggests a lacuna in Ruist synthetic methodology. In theory, an unbridgeable gap exists between rules and acts. Rules are inflexible and limited: to apply a rule in

action requires a secondary rule of application, and it is simple to see that this leads us to an infinite regress. In short, rules and acts are different logical species, and

the gap between them cannot be bridged analytically. However, we are, in fact, able to bridge this gap in ordinary life; we do it synthetically, that is, by practice—trial

and error, repeated until we are satisfied that skill has captured and transcended prescript. To apply rules in life requires not logic, but art.2 This art is the limiting

boundary of rule learning; once it is mastered,

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the guiding role of explicit rules becomes secondary. The Hsun Tzu's formula makes sense: the goal is not the learning of ever more numerous and detailed rules, it is

superseding rules with the organizational unity of a skill system.

This point is central to the Ruist doctrine of the unity of knowledge and action, a notion of great importance to Ruism throughout its history. This doctrine, which claims

that knowledge is not complete until it has been applied in action, implicitly recognizes that cognitive knowing and skill application are categorically distinct. One cannot

possess a skill until one has applied the rules which govern it—haphazardly at first, then with increasing competence. "Study ends with application (hsingc). When one

applies [what one has learnt], one comprehends; comprehending is Sagehood" (H:8.102­3).

The Mohists misunderstood Ruism to be teaching an endless set of rules, when in fact it was teaching a single art. That art was a product of the educational integration

of a broad variety of skill systems: archery, textual study, music, dance, and so forth. These discrete skill matrices were linked through a framework of normative

doctrine and aesthetic affect, and they were intended ultimately to generate a single all­encompassing master matrix: Sagehood. For Ruists, Sagehood born of such

study was ample enough to comprehend holistically the interrelated significance of all phenomena. 3 We explored this notion briefly in chapter III, where we described

it in the theory of practical totalism.

This Sagehood, which for Ruists was an ultimate breadth of vision, must seem to us a product of narrowness. It was determined by a range of skill systems which,

from our cultural standpoint, was clearly limited and arbitrary. Ruists were under no illusions about the source of their ideal—they understood that it was a product of a

limited set of skills. The Hsun Tzu explicitly celebrates this process, which it regarded as far more reliable than any abstract attempt by the mind to penetrate universal

truths on its own: "Ordering the mind is not as good as choosing one's skills. . . . When the proper skills are mastered, the mind will follow them" (H:5.2­3).4 Ruists

understood the genetic basis of their Sagehood, but, unlike us, they saw it as a foundation of ethical breadth. For the Ru, their ritual skills were the culmination of a

world of history and the acme of social and ethical perfection. If, as practical totalism implies, there can be only one species of true Sagehood, what single set of skills

could be more legitimate than these with which to generate it?5

In sum, Ruism was a rigorous, synthetic philosophy, which aimed to cultivate in disciples a comprehension of meaning and truth born of ritual skill mastery. In our quest

for the Ruist meaning of T'ien, we have had to return always to this educational source of the Ruist vision.

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But to know T'ien thoroughly—to see it in ritual and to watch it change in meaning in the light of political failure and philosophical threats—to know what this

changeable notion was to Ruists over the early years, we would have to master Ruist skills and become Ruists. As we have argued, Ruist Truth is not demonstrated in

argument, but in a narrowly delimited educated understanding.

We cannot be Chou period Ru, so we cannot, in the end, know what they knew or what T'ien meant to them. But we can, I think, learn something more about it if we

find a modern analogue for Ruist Sagehood, a model that might appeal directly to contemporary personal experience, thereby giving us greater empathy with the

experiences of Ruist disciples. This is what I hope to do in the next two sections. The first will compile from the early texts a descriptive portrait of Ruist Sagehood.

The second will draw on some recent studies of the psychological concomitants of the exercise of skill mastery to suggest commonalities between seminal Ruist

experiences and our own.

The Elements of Sagehood

As we indicated in the introduction, the presumptions of the modern scholarly point of view lead us to be sceptical about whether Ruists ever achieved in their persons

anything similar to the perfection idealized as Sagehood. Nevertheless, given the commitment to that ideal evidenced by generations of Ru, it would be cynical to

maintain that this notion of ritual perfection and social omniscience was an arbitrary claim made by Ruists simply to glorify their sect and its leaders. It is reasonable to

believe that the notion was not arbitrary, but merely an idealization of an attainable level of human accomplishment and reward that Ruists experienced in the course of

their studies and practice.

This is essentially a question of sincerity and intellectual honesty. When, for example, we encounter a passage such as Mencius' description of the flood­like energy

(M:2A.2), unless we are willing to argue that Mencius was a charlatan, we must believe that his Ruist self­cultivation had led him through at least one profoundly

moving experience of which his statements were descriptive.

The Hsun Tzu contains a passage which is even more convincing on this score. It seems to describe a Ruist ritual experience we might call mystical, but to allow that

the same experience can be achieved in a non­Ruist way.

All li begins in sparse outline, becomes complete in patterned style (wen), and ends in taking joy in its confines. Thus, in its most complete form, spontaneous feelings (ch'ing)

and stylization are both fulfilled. The next best is for spontaneous

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feelings and styles to overcome one another in turn. And lower still, one can revert to spontaneous feelings and, even so, return to the Great Oneness (H:19.25­26). 6

Now, the Great Oneness (t'ai yi) is described earlier in the same passage as an experience available through ceremonial action (H:19.21). The term itself suggests an

encounter with some transcendent level of unity, but we have no further information about it, and speculation on so hazy a notion would be unproductive. What is

remarkable about the passage, though, is the final phrase, which allows that the experience, whatever it may have been, could be encountered through what appears to

be an ecstatic rather than a stylized approach; that is, it could be achieved in a non­Ruist manner. This is a doctrinally disinterested statement, and as such it is

convincing evidence that this is a sincere description of actual experience, and not simply self­serving rhetoric cast in a mystical mode. It is strong testimony, which

lends credence to a wealth of textual descriptions of Sagehood, all of which may hence be read as exaggerations or idealizations of real experiences.

If we gather some of these together, and organize them by common elements, we can arrive at a general description of the components of the root experiences of

Ruist Sagehood. The description includes four major elements: (1) focus of concentration; (2) integration of phenomena; (3) a sense of total control; and (4) feelings of

freedom and joy.

Focus of Concentration

In the Analects, Confucius says that a chün­tzu never for an instant deviates from jen. No matter what the circumstances, his task "must be here" (A:4.5). This idea

that one must learn to focus one's attention on the task of self­perfection pervades all three of our texts, and represents both a method for becoming a Sage and a

characteristic of the Sage.

Focus has two elements: it means narrowing one's vision to include only the field of ethical action, and it also means concentrating all one's attention on that field.7 This

second element becomes increasingly important as a mark of Sagehood. When Mencius talks about the proper method for cultivating the "flood­like energy," he says

it comes from the accumulated practice of right action and describes that process by saying that "the matter must always be there, and the mind must never forget it nor

force it" (M:2A.2).8 In this way one can nurture an "unmoved mind." If the mind strays for an instant; then its proper path becomes overgrown (M:7B.21).9 One must

unify one's dispositions and thus focus the natural energies of the body upon one's ethical task (M:2A.2).10

In the Hsun Tzu, this theme is repeatedly stressed. One must focus (yib) the mind, because "the eyes cannot look at two things and see clearly; the

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ears cannot listen to two things and hear clearly" (H:1.20­22). In every facet of self­perfection, the key is to "unify all and never be divided" (H:8.110­11). 11

Integration

The second element of Sagehood is the ability to grasp the meaning of phenomena in terms of a unified view of the world. In the Analects, this concept is expressed in

the formula, "I link all upon a single thread," which we have already examined in chapter III.12

In the Mencius, this idea of integration is expressed in statements such as "the world of things is complete within me" (M:7A.4), and "he who exhausts his mind . . .

knows T'ien" (M:7A.1). This totalistic understanding is often described as an extension of ordinary ways of thinking, and a substantial technical vocabulary reflects this

idea. In addition to "exhausting" (chin) the mind, the Mencius tells us to "fill out" (ch'ung) our innate moral inclinations (M:2A.6, 7B.25, 7B.31), to "extend'' (t'ui)

them (M:5A.7, 5B.1), to "complete" (ta) them (M:7A.15, 7A.19, 7B.31).13 This extension is precisely equivalent to an unswerving devotion to jen and to right

action.14

In the case of the Hsun Tzu, we have already discussed a similar technical vocabulary (chapter VI, section 3.1), within which the notion of lei, inference from type,

plays a leading role.15 The Sage has developed the faculty of moral inference to perfection. "He grasps what is deep by means of what is shallow, what is new by

means of what is old, the many by means of the one (H:8.97­98; cf. 5.31­32). "He measures all by means of himself. . . . He can look upon random things and not

become confused" (H:5.35­37).

Sense of Total Control

Because the Sage has a unified understanding of the world, he always knows what to do. This means that the Sage always responds properly to contingencies, and

also that he controls events.

We have seen how, in the Analects, the Sage is never anxious, perplexed, or afraid. Confucius (and Yen Yuan) always understood when it was proper to serve a lord

and when not to. As the Mencius puts it: "Confucius was the Sage of timeliness (shih)" (M:5B.1).16

The Sage's totalistic understanding allows him to act with far greater subtlety than the ordinary person. Having mastered the comprehensive art of ritual action, he is no

longer bound by limited moral rules. Thus, Confucius perceives in a great minister's apparent cowardice a higher principle of action, and praises him as jen (A: 14.16­

17). And Mencius tells us that the Sage's words and actions might not conform to ordinary standards of morality (M:4B.11). The Sage alone can weigh and evaluate

all the consequences of his acts.17

The Mencius tells us that the Sage "rights himself and the world of things

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is righted" (M: 7A.19). The Hsun Tzu agrees: he grasps the unity of the totalism and "all things take their proper place" (H:21.53). This is because the Sage "controls

things," he is not "controlled by things" (H:2.20).

Moreover, the Sage meets every contingent circumstance with an absolute perfection of movement. It is worth repeating the Hsun Tzu's dance­like description:

He moves along with time; he bows or arches as the times change. [Fast or slow, curled or stretched,] a thousand moves ten thousand changes: his Way is one (H:8.86­87). 18

Freedom and Joy

Confucius tells us, in the Analects, that at age fifteen he set his heart on study, and when he was seventy, he could follow the desires of his heart and never transgress

(A:2.4). As a master of ritual art, he had become a source of moral law, and he could confidently enjoy perfect freedom to do as he pleased. For the Hsun Tzu, this is

the inevitable outcome of Sagehood, for having perfected the totalistic understanding, what need would there be to force or restrain oneself in order to do what is

right?

The Sage gives free rein to his desires, embraces his spontaneous dispositions, and all he controls is perfectly ruled. What need to force, to restrain—what danger could there be?

Thus the jen person walks along the Way without purposive effort (wu wei); the Sage walks along the Way without striving. The thoughts of jen people are decorous (kung); the

thoughts of the Sage are joyful (H:21.66­67).

The Hsun Tzu even states that the Sage need not plan his action; his unpremeditated impulses not only will be moral, they will perfectly suit each contingency (H:5.5,

17.16).19

And in his state of supreme wisdom, the Sage finds tranquility and joy. In the Analects, both Confucius and Yen Yuan are described as men of joy, unaffected by

circumstance (A:6.11, 7.19). Mencius, too, believed he had mastered an unswerving tranquility: an "unmoved mind" (M:2A.2). The Mencius speaks of a feeling of

freedom born of loving right action, and it describes a joy so intense that all unaware, "the feet prance and the hands dance" (M:4A.27).

<><><><><><><><><><><><>

Many other aspects of Sagehood could be cited, political prowess being one. This was an aspect of Sagehood read into history, rather than contemporary society. In

the Ruist view, the Sages of the past had invented society and been its kings—they were Sages as leaders. In addition to mastering the

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art of responding to contingencies, they were able to transform the world.

We have limited ourselves here to nonpolitical aspects because they are descriptive of the Sage as opposed to the Sage King, and so applicable to the real

experiences of late Chou Ruists, and also because I believe that taken just this far, these descriptive qualities are comprehensible as a whole and suggest believable

human attributes.

The Ruist texts, unlike some Taoist texts, do not generally claim powers for the Sage that conflict with the physical limitations of man, such as the ability to fly. The

Ruist ideal is still a mortal man, albeit a perfect one. Although there are probably few people in the modern West who would admit that such totalistic perfection is

possible in a human being, this description of the Sage becomes recognizable to us as a persona encountered in life if we slightly alter its context. Rather than trying to

apply this idealized description to a person as he lives through the varied scenes of his life, our Ruist Sage will become a plausible and entirely familiar figure, only

slightly exaggerated, if we narrow the scope of his powers by comparing him to a skilled Master in the process of performing a special and limited art.

The Phenomenon of Mastery

The structure of skill performance is sometimes difficult to isolate. Virtually every act performed during the course of a lifetime can be described as the performance of

skills. Actions are not, however, usually interpreted in this way; they are generally understood in instrumental context, that is, they are entailed with the events of life,

and it is the consequences of an act to which we tend to pay attention, rather than the structure of the act itself. Its meaning is a function of its context.

However, we do recognize areas in which skill performance is relatively (although not completely) disengaged from life, areas such as the arts, athletics, and games.

The relative noninstrumentality of these activities allows us to see more clearly attributes that characterize skill performance.

Recent studies by psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi have examined some characteristics of skill performance in these relatively noninstrumental contexts, and the

descriptions that subjects give of their experiences tally well with Ruist descriptions of Sagehood. Successful performance of skills is associated with a focus of

concentration upon a limited phenomenal field, facilitated by the fact that the skilled actor is completely acquainted with the limited possibilities which that field offers

for his or her skill. 20 The infinite contingencies of normal experience have been narrowed: "[E]verything needed for acting in the situation is available—all the

information is there, all the tools are at hand."21 The skilled performer (pianist, fencer,

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skier, dancer) adopts a single, unified point of view from which all relevant particular phenomena are comprehensible in relation to the whole. 22

The result is a totality of control experienced in no other type of activity. The master performer has a balance of "inner" skills and "outer" challenges that engenders a

feeling of complete control over situations.23 And this sense of control is confirmed by an ability to act in extraordinarily appropriate ways. Decisions seem to the actor

unpremeditated, yet are unfailingly correct.24 Within the context of mastered skill, it is possible to become a Sage.

Complementing this exercise of skill is a profound affective element, described as a calmness, or harmony, an "aliveness": we find a deep sense of joy.25 This feeling is

sometimes described as a special type of energy or a sense of "Oneness" with something greater than the self, descriptions that remind us of passages from our Ruist

texts. Compare Mencius' description of the "food­like energy" with dancers' statements that when a performance is going well and concentration is complete, there is

"no area where you feel blocked or stiff. Your energy is flowing very smoothly." "I am in control. I feel I can radiate an energy into the atmosphere. . . . I become one

with the atmosphere.'' " I want to expand, hug the world."26

The significance of statements such as these for understanding Ruism can only be appreciated when we recall that what Ruists were perfecting during their long years

of self­cultivation were precisely skills suited for this type of noninstrumental action: skills in the human arts. In the course of their study of ritual, music, and dance,

Ruists more than likely encountered the very sorts of totalistic experiences described by modern artists, athletes, and others. Such experiences of complete cognitive

and motor competence could have provided the model for the totalistic Ruist portrait of Sagehood.27

Did they? I believe they did. My feeling is that in descriptions of the psychological concomitants of skill mastery we encounter the root of early Ruist practice and its

elaborating doctrine, and the generation of two millennia of Ruist history. The hypothesis is not subject to proof or, more telling, to disproof. It is merely speculation.

Nevertheless, this speculation makes sense and is enlightening, and it is legitimate to accept it for what it is—a satisfying and consistent conclusion to an exploratory

philosophical quest.

<><><><><><><><><><><><>

At the outset of this book, we suggested that the paradigmatic role of the Ruist philosopher was as a Master of dance, and our reinterpretation of early Ruism has

frequently employed dance as a guiding metaphor. The

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metaphor has formed a linking theme on several levels.

Ruists studied dance and were dancers. The Chou ceremonial dances they practiced integrated an artistic mastery over ritual music and song, the bearing of ritual

costume, and the ritual dance steps themselves. While ritual dance may not have occupied Ruists daily to the degree that other forms of ceremony did, it stood as the

ultimate expression of Ruist aesthetic mastery, combining many aesthetic skills, and exemplifying the basic task of all ritual study: the choreography of ordinary

existence. Its meaning was self­fulfilled, as the Hsun Tzu recognized:

How do we come to know the meaning of a dance? . . . Our eyes not seeing for themselves, our ears not hearing for themselves, we look down and up, we curl and stretch, we

advance and retreat, we quicken and slow—in all we are strictly ruled. We exhaust the strength of muscle and bone, constraining ourselves to the converging rhythms of gong

and drum without the slightest deviation—and gradually, the meaning becomes clear (H:20.39­40). 28

Then, too, dance exemplifies the perfect bonding of social ritual: the ideal that Ruists prefigured in their millennial vision. As in their utopian world where the prescripts

of delineated social roles would unite all individuals in a predictable, largely repetitive, but supremely rewarding web of social action, just so dance unites its members

in the aesthetic satisfactions of integrating the motions of individuals in a perfect figure of social cooperation.

Finally, as an arena of noninstrumental skill, I know of no activity that more universally elicits the exultant experiences of skill mastery we have discussed in this

chapter. Since beginning this study, I have encountered numerous individuals who have told me of a devotion to dance based on precisely these sorts of rewards, and

I expect that they are common property of artistic and ritual dance in all societies.29

When we look for a Ruist meaning of T'ien, we must anticipate that meaning to be fundamentally a function of the core rewards of Ruist practice: the joy concomitant

to skill mastery. Whether T'ien was invoked as part of a doctrinal structure that legitimized and defended that ritual practice, or whether it was simply revered as a

projection of Ruists' devotion to their art and its rewards, the Ruists' T'ien always prefigured the sense of the world as seen by the Master of ritual choreography, the

model of the Sage.

The dance of Ruism possessed self­fulfilled meaning; the meaning of T'ien must be sought in the dance.

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APPENDIX ATHE ORIGINS OF THE TERM "T'IEN"

The etymological origins of the term "t'ien" are obscure. The earliest unambiguous instances of usage date from the early Western Chou, that is, the eleventh century

B.C. This fact is central to the most popular theory concerning the origins of the term, first proposed by Herrlee G. Creel in 1937. Creel proposed that T'ien, as a term

and as a deity, was a Chou innovation. An alternative to Creel's theory that relies on an attempt to demonstrate that the term "t'ien" appears with frequency in pre­

Chou sources was proposed by Shima Kunio in 1958. Both theories are plausible, but each also involves flaws in evidence and argumentation. A complete picture

would probably include elements of both theories, as well as information considered by neither. 1

By noting here both the contents and lacunae in the models of Creel and Shima, and supplementing these earlier theories with speculations along independent lines, we

can glimpse the complex history of the term "t'ien" that formed the background to Ruist usage 2

Creel's Theory of T'ien as the Chou Ancestral Kings

Creel's theory is simply stated:

This theory holds that the character T'ien is a variant form of the character ta [ ]. Ta is a pictograph of a large or great man, and it no doubt had that sense originally among the

Chou people as well as the Shang. But among the Chou a particular form of ta became specialized to refer only to the greatest men, the Kings, and especially the dead Kings, who

were even more powerful . . . Thus, T'ien came to mean the group of ancestral Kings (1970:502).3

This is, I think, a well­reasoned theory; however, there are problems with it. The most evident problem is one that Creel himself notes: there is practically no textual

evidence to support it. But while this is unfortunate, it is also likely to be true of any theory that tries to get at root meanings of "t'ien." If the lack of evidence means the

theory cannot be proved, it does not mean that it is not plausible: there is no textual evidence to refute it either.4

A more serious problem lies in Creel's assumption that the word "ta" meant "a large or great man." Other problems involve the fact that a graph

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identical to "t'ien" is used in the Shang texts in the sense of "great," and difficulties connected with Creel's suggestion of a phonetic evolution from "ta" to "t'ien." Let

us consider these problems in turn.

Creel's theory relies heavily in the gloss of "ta" as "large or great man." But we are able to trace "ta" back through the oracle texts, and nowhere do we find strong

evidence of such a meaning. 5 The word seems consistently to mean "big" and the fact that the oracle graph ( , meaning "ascend," ever denoted two feet, one on top

of the other.6 Creel has confused two principles of character formation, the "portrait of form" (hsiang­hsing) with the "indication of affairs" (chih­shih).

Creel wishes to show that "t'ien" was used as a loan for "ta" in the sense of "great" and in this he is certainly correct; there is much evidence to bear him out

(1970:497­99).7 However, some of the implications of this work against Creel's theory. The loan relationship appears in Shang oracle texts as well as in Chou texts,

and the graph used in the Shang texts ( ) does not, as Creel notes, denote T'ien in the sense of a deity. What Creel is suggesting then is that for the Chou, "ta"

evolved into "t'ien" in the sense of "heaven," with a graphemic (and phonetic) development accompanying the semantic one, while for the Shang, an identical

graphemic development occurred independent of semantic ( or phonetic? ) change. This seems improbable.

A key element of Creel's theory is that the Chou ruler was called "T'ien­tzu": "the son of T'ien," which supports the notion that "t'ien" basically denoted the former

Kings (Creel 1970:503­04). But just here is where the relationship between "ta" and "t'ien" may be critical, because "t'ien­tzu" may mean "great son" as easily as

"son of T'ien." Evidence that it did can be found in two related Shang bronze inscriptions, the To­ya Sheng yi and the Sheng ku. The first of these inscriptions reads:

On hsin­ssu, the king wined the [leader of the] gravemen (?) Sheng at the sacred shrine . . . wherefore [I, Sheng] make this ?­vessel for Ta­tzu Ting (Shirakawa 1963­64:1.13).

The second reads:

T'ien­tzu Sheng makes this yi­vessel for Father Ting (Shirakawa 1963­64:1.16).

The inscriptions present problems of interpretation, but the essential fact seems to be that "ta­tzu" and "t'ien­tzu" are equivalent, with Sheng

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succeeding to his father's title, while his father is still referred to by that title in the earlier inscriptions. 8 This would indicate that the original meaning of "t'ien­tzu" was

not "son of T'ien" but "great son."

Finally, Creel's assertion that the graph

In evaluating Creel's theory, we must conclude that his arguments are not adequate to support the claim that "t'ien" was a form of "ta" meaning "great men," and by

extension "the former Kings.'' However, it is equally true that the basic idea that "t'ien" denoted the former Kings remains plausible and unaffected by flaws in Creel's

argumentation. Building on very little evidence, Creel's theory is reasonable and remains important.

Shima's Theory of T'ien in Shang Oracle Texts

The principal attraction of the theory of "t'ien's" origins proposed by Shima Kunio is that, if his theory is correct, it would allow us to track the origins of T'ien through

the Shang oracle texts. Shima's theory can be divided into two parts. The first part holds that the word "t'ien" does indeed appear in the oracle texts, represented by

the graph (Shima 1958:174­86).9 Shima argues the validity of the first part of his theory by citing the second part. We will distinguish the two parts clearly here

because our conclusion will be to reject the second part. while allowing the plausibility of the first.

Shima's theory is designed to cover a range of instances of the graph , but not all of them. The functions of the graph as a cyclical sign are completely distinct from its

hypothetical function as T'ien. The first step in evaluating the theory is to delimit the corpus of texts to which it is meant to apply.10 Once this is done, Shima identifies

two functions of the graph: to denote a type of sacrifice, and to denote a deity (1958:179­80).

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Shima holds that as a sacrifice name, (1958:179­80, 184). His arguments rest on an extremely tenuous base of ambiguous "loan" relationships and tortuous

reasoning. These arguments are inadequate to overcome a central difficulty, which is that the functions of these graphs are almost completely disjoined in the oracle

texts. In the case of the sacrifice names, they have no sacrificial objects in common, and the styles of divination applied to the two types are completely different. 11

The differences are equally clear in the case of the two deities. The portrait of Ti conveyed by the oracle texts is of one or many high gods that actively influence a

wide variety of human affairs, but that are rarely, if ever, direct objects of sacrifice (Eno 1984:53­65). Unlike Ti, the deity denoted by is rarely pictured as actively

influencing events, and is the recipient of a wide variety of sacrifices.12

Despite all this, the hypothesis that the Shang graph represents the same word as the Chou graph remains to be explored.13

The most persuasive evidence that might, indeed, have denoted the deity T'ien is that sacrifices to occasionally were performed on a truly impressive scale. Three

inscriptions record the sacrifice of 300 human victims to .14 With one possible exception, I believe these are the only cases of so many human victims being offered

to a single deity.15 Apart from this, the evidence that denoted T'ien is largely negative; if it is once conceded that here does not function as a cyclical sign denoting

a particular ancestor, then what deity other than T'ien could it denote? Given the size of these sacrifices, alternatives to T'ien are not easy to justify. Further, the

phonetic relationship between *tieng/ting and *t'ien/ t'ien is quite close; conceivably, the graph for the former was loaned to provide a graph for the latter.16

We find other instances of in the oracle texts that might provide evidence of a correspondence between that graph and "t'ien." In one divination formula, o appears

in parallel usage with Mountain and River, and the sense of these texts appears to indicate that rain prayers were made to these deities by decapitating female human

victims.17 This may suggest that was a nature god, which would bring it closer to "t'ien" in the sense of "sky." Another series of divinations refers to the "ting­jen"

of certain places or temples, these people all being women (S:2866).18 In Chou bronze inscriptions, the phrases "t'ien­chün'' and "t'ien­yin" seem to

have the meaning of "consort" in some cases; "ting­jen" might possess a related meaning here.19

If Shima's theory were correct, what root meanings of "t'ien" would we be able to discern? The graph is itself so simple as to allow almost any interpretation, and

many have been suggested.20 There might be a hint among the inscriptions where the graph seems to function as a sacrifice name.

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In these inscriptions, , which in these cases apparently carries the concurrent meanings of "shrine" and "shrine sacrifice." 21 Three formulas appear: (1) :

"tsung­ting­sacrifice. . . .24 "Tsung" seems to denote a sacrifice here by virtue of being the place where the ritual is performed. If we take "ting" as parallel, it, too,

would represent a ritual place, but because it is also subordinate to "tsung" we would expect it to represent a ritual area within the tsung­shrine.25 If we allow that

the graph might not be a loan graph, then we may go further and suggest a square shaped ritual place.

Turning to other members of the graphemic family to which *tieng/ting : "the top."27

If it were true that represented the deity T'ien, we could argue from this evidence that the word as used in the Shang texts referred ambiguously to the sky and to the

square altar upon which sacrifices to T'ien as sky­god were made and whose shape might itself have been symbolic of the sky. This essential ambiguity would be

hidden in the divination texts themselves, because the language of the texts generally does not distinguish between the meanings "sacrifice to" and "sacrifice

at" (Keightley 1979­80:29).

If, indeed, "t'ien" originally carried a meaning of "altar," then that sense of the word would appear to have died out during the Chou. But one of our earliest reliable

Chou texts, the Ho tsun inscription, might indicate that this meaning was still available soon after the Chou conquest. That inscription contains four references to T'ien,

and at least two are problematical. If we allow that the word "t'ien" may have ambiguously denoted a deity and an altar at once, these problems might be resolved to

some degree. The four passages, translated according to this hypothesis are these:

1.

It was when the King first removed his residence to Ch'eng­Chou, carrying on anew the rites of King Wu, [he performed] fu­sacrifices [starting] from the t'ien (altar of T'ien).28

2.

[King Wu] made a courtyard announcement at the t'ien.

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3.

Look to [the example of] your noble clansman, who [earned the honor of] having a vessel [dedicated to him] at the t'ien by carrying out his duties. 29

4.

May the King's reverent virtue bathe the t'ien.30

In the first passage (1), the fact that "t'ien" denotes a temple location is agreed upon by most commentators.31 Here the ellipsis of the shrine name is explained by

taking the sense as implicit in the word "t'ien" itself. The second passage (2) exhibits the same ambiguity of "to'' and "at" as we find in the oracle texts. An

announcement "at the t'ien" would be identical to an announcement "to T'ien." In the third passage (3), the odd idea of "having rank with T'ien" is explained by sticking

to the concrete imagery of the text. In the last case, the troublesome image of the King somehow being able to bathe (or cover) the sky or a sky­god with his virtue is

resolved by using the concrete image of the altar.32

All of this provides considerable circumstantial support for the main point of Shima's thesis, that in the sense of a deity refer to ting­sign kings remains plausible. In

other words, although Shima's theory has a great deal to offer, it remains a theory based on little evidence. One would expect that if the theory were right and these

inscriptions were referring to a deity of T'ien's stature, the issue would not be in doubt.

T'ien and the Sky­Borne Dead

As a last attempt to get at the roots of T'ien, I would like to offer a hypothesis constructed largely from clues scattered through late philological sources, such as the

Shuo­wen chieh­tzu, a work of the late Han period. Because of the late date of much of the material, this can at best be a speculative theory, but due to the great

difficulty of extracting helpful information concerning T'ien from reliably early sources, I feel the attempt is justified. What we will find here are the possible traces of a

tradition that pictured T'ien as the sky in the very literal sense of the direction taken by the ashes of people burnt upon a pyre. We will suggest that this might have

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reflected an early ritual tradition of human sacrifice, one which might have given way to more symbolic popular shamanistic rituals during the Chou.

Our starting point is the definition of "t'ien" found in the Shuo­wen. *T'ien/ t'ien is defined there as *tien/tien : "the top," a word to which it is phonetically related.

Now, one of the reasons that the root meaning of "t'ien'' is so difficult to trace is because the graphemic family to which the word belongs is almost devoid of other

members. 33 What we are going to do here is to take the methodologically arbitrary step of associating "t'ien" with the graphemic family of its Shuo­wen definiens.

We can only hope that the discoveries resulting will tend to confirm the justice of this step.

"T'ien's" foster family is ruled by the phonetic and semantic element is defined as "rising high" in the sense of "flying on fire" (SWCTKL:3A.1144a).

Let us assume that "t'ien's" new family is involved with the image suggested here of a person being burnt and ascending to the sky. Is there other evidence to support

this? If we allow ourselves somewhat more speculative leeway than is usual, we might consider the following family members: : "toppling over" (SWCTL:4A.1439b;

7B.3314b; 2A.596b; 9A.3976b; 2B.889b). These all appear applicable as descriptions of a person being burnt upon a pyre.

Consider also the family member , which is defined as a burnt offering to T'ien (SWCTKL:10A.4452b).35

Another graphemic family comes into the picture here, one which is phonetically close to the ", which means "to exhaust" in the sense of "to die," or, as the Lun­

heng states, it means "the equivalent of death" (SWCTKL:4B.1716b).37

All this seems to point to an association of T'ien with a ritual where people were burnt in order to send them to the sky, the home of the transformed "immortals." But

was there such a ritual? We know from abundant archaeological evidence that the Shang and Chou peoples buried

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their dead, they did not burn them on pyres. However, indications are found that cremation was practiced by peoples to the west of the Chou polity, and this might

have included the area of the ancient Chou homeland. Perhaps the echoes of such a tradition may have persisted through the Chou period. 38 It is at least true that one

of the names for the death of a Chou ruler was the very term used to name the barbarian practice of cremation (LC, Chü­li 11:1.21a).39

Furthermore, evidence exists that suggests shamans and witches were burnt upon pyres as a rain prayer ritual during both the Shang and the Chou.40 Perhaps it is

significant that a graph used in the oracle texts to denote this ritual was , a cognate word.

Indications, then, suggest that T'ien was conceived in one tradition as the sky, in the sense of the destination of the flame­borne dead. Originally, this may have

involved the act of burning people, but later the meaning must have become more a symbolic one, shamans perhaps flying toward T'ien in thought, rather than in flame.

The transformation is suggested by the presence of the to pray'' (SWCTKL:A.43­44; 1A.72­73).

Summary

Because a reliable body of evidence for tracing the earliest meanings of "t'ien" is lacking, efforts to isolate those meanings necessarily result in theories that are rather

speculative. In this section, we have considered three such theories. H. G. Creel's theory leads us toward the image of T'ien as the rulers of the past, collectively

conceived as living in heaven. Following Shima Kunio's theory, we arrived at a possible root meaning of "t'ien" as concurrently the sky or sky­god and the altar of

that god. A third speculative theory led us to think of T'ien as the destination of the ashes of cremated sacrificial victims, a meaning of "sky" linked to the image of

death by fire.

Investigations of "original meanings" generally aim at the discovery of a root referent so concrete as to explain all ambiguities of term usage as functions of later

development of intellectual abstractions. It might be, however, that the deep­seated ambiguities that pervade all our research into the origins of the term "t'ien"

indicate that varieties of referents and intellectual abstraction were characteristic of the function of the term from its beginnings. What was T'ien: the sky, the dead who

lived there, the victims who were burnt and sent there, or an altar where they were burnt? In many

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ways, it makes little difference. Perhaps T'ien really "was not." Perhaps even in its most concrete sense T'ien was a vanishing point, representing the apex rather than

the object of reverence. In a religious matrix, the sky, the spirits, the holy altar—any of these could have been T'ien, and all with equal rhetorical force. And at one

time or another, all might have been.

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APPENDIX BA THEORY OF THE ORIGINS OF THE TERM "JU"

One potentially enlightening tactic for filling out our portrait of the early Ruist community would be to explore the early meanings of the term that was used to denote

the group: "ju" 1 Unfortunately, the sources of the term are obscure: its meaning and significance have been subject to long debate. It is possible to outline a

theory of the origins of the term that offers strong support for the portrait of the Ruist community developed in this essay: a theory that links the term "ju" to traditions

of dance. The theory, however, is speculative. It shares with many other explorations in Chinese philology the methodological weakness of focusing on a single thread

of loan connections among words without offering a balancing scale of probability to weigh the conclusiveness of each link in the chain. Moreover, in my view at least

two links of the chain I will attempt to forge below are too weak to allow the analysis to stand alone as a demonstrated hypothesis. As a result, the persuasiveness of

the theory must rely in part upon the coherence of the central arguments of this book. For this reason, it is included as an appendix, rather than as a supporting

argument in the main text.

The Silence of the Pre­Confucian Ru

Before turning to an etymological analysis of the term "ju" we must ascertain whether the term, in its Warring States usage, was applied exclusively to the followers of

Confucius or had a broader range of application. The core of this question reduces to a simpler one. Was there a group of people known as "Ru" prior to the time of

Confucius, or was Confucius the first Ru?

Most commentators hold that there were pre­Confucian Ru: ritual specialists at feudal courts, whose ranks were probably filled on the basis of heredity. The theory

was most eloquently stated at the turn of the century by Chang Ping­lin (CSTS, Kuo­ku lun­heng:125­28). Chang, relying on statements from the Chuang Tzu, held

that the original Ru had been astrologers and meteorologists, and that "ju" became a generic name for all types of "skilled" (shu ) ritualists.2 Many scholars have

followed Chang's major thesis, while differing with specifics of his argument.3

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Chang's theory implies that at some point "Ru" denoted two types of people: the successors of the pre­Confucian Ru, court ritualists, perhaps of hereditary lineage,

and Confucius' followers, who resembled the original Ru in their interest in li, but who were drawn from society at large, and who also subscribed to specific doctrines

preached by Confucius that might not have been known to or accepted by all "original" Ru.

There is no question that theories of this nature are intuitively plausible. The main problem with them is the virtual absence of supporting evidence. To my knowledge,

only one passage exists in verifiably pre­Ch'in literature that appears to use the term "ju" to refer to a group of men other than the followers of Confucius. That

instance occurs in the Analects (6.13), wherein Confucius instructs his disciple Tzu­hsia to be a "chün­tzu Ru" rather than a "vulgar Ru." Hu Shih argued that the

language of the passage proved beyond a doubt that 'ju'' was used as a generic name prior to Confucius' time (1934:5­6).

A:6.13 is good evidence to support such a claim, but it is not conclusive evidence, and it stands virtually isolated. The word "ju" is used only this once in the

Analects, and it appears nowhere in pre­Confucian texts, such as oracle or bronze inscriptions, the Poetry, nor even in the Documents. In the Mo Tzu and the

Mencius, the word is already employed solely as a name for Confucius' school, as it is in later works.

Perhaps the most persuasive case against the existence of pre­Confucian Ru is an argument from silence based on the evidence of the Tso­chuan, a Ruist text that

presents a romanticized history of the centuries immediately preceding Confucius' time. Such a text might well be expected to give pre­Confucian Ru a significant role,

and it seems the most likely place to turn to find an instance of the term "ju" applied to pre­Confucian figures. Surprisingly, the Tso­chuan uses the word "ju" just

once: it appears in the compound "Ru­books' (ju­shu [Ai 21:30.45]), where the term is employed in direct reference to an incident involving Confucius' disciples (cf.

Ai 17:30.39­40), and the word "Ru" clearly denotes them and not any pre­Confucian group. 4

The failure of the Tso­chuan and other early texts to confirm the existence of pre­Confucian Ru leaves the status of A:6.13 very much in question. To date

persuasively individual passages in the Analects or to evaluate their authenticity as historical accounts is notoriously difficult. But given the isolation in which A:6.13

stands in terms of evidence of pre­Confucian Ru, sustaining the presumption that it accurately reports words uttered during Confucius' lifetime is difficult.

In sum, groups of men professionally skilled in ceremonial practice in ways similar to Confucius and his followers unquestionably existed prior to Confucius' time:

however, virtually no evidence is found to suggest that the

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word "ju" was ever used to describe them. 5 The term seems to have been an innovation originally intended to denote the new sect founded by Confucius.6

The Sources of the Term "Ju"

If the word "ju" was coined as a name for the followers of Confucius, the original meaning of the term should be of great interest in developing a portrait of that

community of disciples. Currently, our understanding of the word is so shallow that the name by which the Ruist community was known adds almost nothing to our

insight into the nature of the group.

Traditional Approaches

The starting point for all etymological work in ancient Chinese is the Shuo­wen chieh­tzu, a dictionary compiled by the late Han scholar Hsu Shen about A.D. 100.

The Shuo­wen gives us the following definition of ju": " 'Ju' means 'flexible' (jou )" (SWCTKL:8A3483). The word "jou" has additional meanings of "soft,"

''weak," and "to comfort." Of these, the meaning "weak" has attracted the attention of interpreters most often.7

Hu Shih linked the idea of "weakness" to a comprehensive theory he held that viewed pre­Confucian Ru as the descendants of Shang ritualists who, as the priest class

of a conquered people, prized the value of submissiveness (1934). Hu's theory was disputed by Fung Yu­lan, who believed that the name of "Ru" was applied in the

sense of "weak" to the followers of Confucius to distinguish them from the martially skilled Mohists (1935).8 Liu Chieh, adopting portions of Fung's arguments,

stressed that the name "Ru" postdated Confucius' time and was probably a satirical term, coined by Mohists who disapproved of the non­military nature of the Ruist

syllabus (1943:218).9 All these theories remain tenable, but we do not have adequate evidence to adjudicate between them.

A common flaw that pervades most of the theories we have mentioned is that they do not account for the term "ju" but rather for the term "jou," the Shuo­wen

definiens. While it is true that Shuo­wen definientia are often etymologically related to the words they define, the relation is sometimes more oblique than

straightforward. Any attempt to penetrate the sense of the term "ju" should begin by adopting a different methodology.10

The Dwarf Dancers

The primary reason why scholars have been driven to examine "jou" rather than "ju" lies in the fact that the word "ju" virtually never appears in

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pre­Ch'in texts in any sense other than "Confucian." The only exception is its appearance as the second element of a binome: the word "chu­ju" meaning "dwarf

dancer," a species of performer, part acrobat, part shaman, of questionable reputation. 11 The semantic contribution of the element ''ju" in this compound is not clear.

"Chu" in itself means "dwarf," but no instances are found of "ju" appearing independently to confirm a gloss of "dancer." It is a characteristic of ancient Chinese that

in binomes in which both elements rhyme, the second element often makes no semantic contribution. If the binome "chu­ju" ( ) were a true "rhyming binome"

then we could infer no information concerning the character "ju."12

It is possible, however, that "chu­ju" is not a true rhyming binome and that both elements of the term make semantic contributions. Examples of apparently related

binomes are found in which second syllable does make a semantic contribution. For example, the Kuang­yun, a word book dating from the sixth century AD.,

equates the meaning of a cognate binome chu­nou with its second element.13

Similar instances shed further light on the meaning of "chu­ju" and of "ju." The binome *iu­ : "fearful" (cowering?), could easily reflect such a meaning.15 An

elegant linkage of the ideas of dwarf and dance could be achieved by suggesting that the hunched quality of the "ju" may not have been a characteristic of his person,

but rather of the dances performed. In particular, flowing movements for which dancers were necessarily arched or bowed might have suggested an association with

the hunchback form.16

The implications are that the character "ju" may have possessed an independent meaning either identical with the overall sense of "chu­ju," "dwarf dancer," or with

the simple meaning of "dancer." On so narrow a basis of evidence, however, such a conclusion must be judged speculative.

The Flexibility of the Ape

To make such speculation persuasive, the most promising approach would be to demonstrate that the word "jou," the Shuo­wen definiens, was likewise connected to

the notion of dance, and that the characters for "ju" and "jou" were, in fact, simply alternate graphs for a single word, as demon­

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strated by significant indications of loan use (a relation that characterizes many of the definienda and definientia in the Shuo­wen). As it turns out, the word "jou" does

indeed have close connections to dance; however, significant indications of loan use are lacking.

Bronze inscriptions dating from the early Chou make clear that the character "jou" was commonly written with a graph that evolved into the character "nao" (in

the early Chou these were most likely homophonous). 17 "Nao," the Shuo­wen informs us, was "an avaricious beast; some say it is a mother ape who resembles a

person" (SWCTKL:2326b).18

On the basis of the bronze forms, we can infer that "nao" represents the original graph for the word "jou," which later came to be represented by a far simpler graph.

the Shuo­wen definition for "jou" is: "the straightening and bending of wood," whence the sense "flexible.'' The meaning of "flexible," which the Shuo­wen rather

forcibly connects with wood on the basis of the wood semanteme in the later graph, was more directly conveyed by the crouched figure of the ape, represented in the

earlier graph.

The Ape Dancers

The word "nao" leads us into a cluster of phonetic cognates that include the elements : "dancer," a word that leads us back to our "chu­ju" dwarfs of a somewhat

later period.20

The type of dancer denoted by the word "yu" was similar to that denoted by the binome "chu­ju," and these dancers were also often referred to by compound

words, such as "p'ai­yu" The use of these terms in late Chou and Han texts indicates that these were comic dancers, associated with performances

considered lewd by contemporary conservatives. Additionally, in this regard they were explicitly linked to the chu­ju dancers. Consider the following passage from the

Li­chi, a Ruist text likely to date from the early Han:

Tzu­hsia said, ". . . In today's new music the ranks of dancers are all crooked, and lascivious sounds unceasingly overflow. And then the yu and chu­ju mingle male and female, like

apes (nao) who cannot distinguish parent from child (Yueh­chi: 11.15b).21

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If Ruists derived their name from association with dancers of such a type, they would have been unlikely to welcome such a linkage. The term would surely have been

intended satirically: a means of mocking Ruist obsessions with the artistry of orthodox music and dance. Perhaps it was in a specific effort to parry the thrust of such a

jibe that Ruists elaborated the tale of the most dramatic episode in Confucius' biography: his role as a minister to Duke Ting of Lu at a meeting with Duke Ching of Ch'i

at Chia­ku, in 500 B.C. In the Shih­chi account, Confucius confronts Duke Ching's lack of ritual propriety so effectively that Ch'i is prompted to return to Lu, with

apologies, three parcels of Lu lands that Ch'i had formerly annexed. Here is how Confucius made his point:

The Ch'i Master of Ceremonies hurried in saying, "We ask permission for a performance of palace music." "Granted," responded Duke Ching. The yu­ch 'ang and chu­ju began

their acrobatics. Confucius hurried forward up the dais steps, calling as he began, ''Commoners who daze the minds of lords must suffer execution! Let the masters of ceremonies

be ordered accordingly!" The masters of ceremonies carried out the law; hands and feet were scattered in all directions. Duke Ching was moved with fear (SC:47.1915).

With such a climax to the political career of their founder, Ruists would have blunted at least some of the negative effects of their unfortunate title. 22

Yet although it may seem obvious to us why Ru might feel uneasy at being named after comic or lewd dancers who recalled the forms of female apes, there is no

evidence that Ruists made any direct attempt to reject the name "ju," or expressed dissatisfaction with it. This may merely be a lapse in the record, but it does not

serve our theory. Perhaps another explanation can be found.

The Masked Dance Masters

The word "jou," as Jao Tsung­yi has stressed, can have a positive sense, as is exemplified in the phrase "jou yuan neng erh" , "to tame," as in to tame wild

animals—not surprising because both words belong to the family of words governed by "nao," the ape.23

The word "jao" is used in the sense of "taming animals," but it is also used in the sense of "educating the people." For example, in the Chou­li, the high office of T'ai­

tsai includes "responsibility for establishing the state by means of the six constant codes." Of the "code of instruction," the text tells

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us: "It is used to bring peace to the state, to instruct its officials, and to educate (jao) the myriad people" (CL:1.lOa). The term suggests a process of pacifying through

enlightened training.

As we saw in chapter II, for Ruist texts such as the Chou­li, the process of education was built around training in music and dance: the idealized education institutions

of such texts are presided over by music masters, and the curricula consist largely of graduated courses in ceremonial dance. The words "jao" would have an

original meaning very close to "dance master," where the master is pictured at once as the masked animal dancer and the tamer of animals. If such were the roots of

the term "ju," it would explain the apparent satisfaction with which the Ruist school bore its name.

Colorful as this line of speculation is, further evidence will be required before the theory can be regarded as more than plausible. 24 The absence of straightforward

loan relationships between words of the phonetic class of "ju" and those of the class to which "jou" and "jao" belong remain troubling.25 One closing instance that

bears on the theory, however, might be worth noting in brief.

In the section of the Documents that purports to record events at the courts of the Emperors Yao and Shun, a section probably composed by Ruist authors late in the

Warring States period, two similar passages appear that seem suggestive. These passages focus on a personage named K'uei ) seems to bear this out, as it

pictures a figure with an oversized, misshapen head—unmistakably masklike—a bent body, and one great foot. As it happens, it is the graph for "nao," the ape and

ape­masked dancer (late script evolution established a small distinction between the two characters).

K'uei, then, seems to have been a "nao," and so it is not surprising to find that in his Ruist incarnation in the Documents, he is cast as the royal music master at the

court of the Emperor Shun. "K'uei!" commands the Emperor:

"I order you to codify the music and instruct the noble sons. . . . Let them speak their minds with poetry; let them chant their speech in song; let them link their chants to the tones

of the scale; let their melodies bring the tones in harmony. The eight instruments in tune with one another, none usurping another's role—thus may spirits and men join in

harmony." "Oh, yes," replied K'uei. "For when I strike the chime of stone it sets the hundred beasts to dancing" (Shun tien:1.11).26

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Surely, if K'uei was a nao, though a nao were an ape, a Ru could be well satisfied to be called one as well.

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APPENDIX C

HSUN TZU TREATISE ON T'IEN 1

[A]2

(1)3 T'ien's ways are constant: it does not prevail due to Yao; it does not perish due to Chieh. Respond to it with order and good fortune follows; respond to it with

disorder and ill fortune follows. Strengthen the root 4 and regulate expenditures, and T'ien cannot impoverish. (2) Bring nurturance to completion and act only when

the time is ripe, and T'ien cannot sicken.5 Cultivate the Way without irresolution, and T'ien cannot devastate. Flood and drought cannot bring starvation; extremes of

cold and heat cannot bring sickness; (3) prodigies and freaks cannot bring ill fortune. Let the roots shrivel and spend extravagantly, and T'ien cannot enrich. Skimp

nurturance and act contrary 6 to the times, and T'ien cannot complete. (4) Abandon the Way and act wantonly, and T'ien cannot bring good fortune. There is

starvation without flood or drought; there is sickness without extremes of cold and heat; there is ill fortune without prodigies and freaks. (5) Though the seasons

revolve as they do in ordered times, disaster and devastation arise unlike in ordered times.7 T'ien cannot be blamed: it is a consequence of the way [chosen by man].

He who understands the distinct roles of T'ien and man may be called a perfect man.

[B]

(6) That which is accomplished without action, obtained without pursuit, that belongs to the office of T'ien.8 Though it be profound, man adds no thought to it; though

it be great, man adds no ability to it; (7) though it be keen, man adds no insight to it. This is called "not contesting office with T'ien." T'ien (the heavens) has its seasons,

earth has its riches, man has his rule: this is what is meant by "forming a trinity." (8) To discard the means for joining with the other two and instead to aspire to their

[likeness]: this is delusion.9

The ranks of stars revolve in procession, the sun and moon shine in turn, the seasons succeed one another, the forces of yin and yang [alternate] in

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great transformation, (9) the winds and rains give broad nourishment, the things of the world each obtain a harmony [of forces] whereby they come to life; each

obtains nurturance to grow to completion: the process unseen but the finished work manifest—this is called "spirit." (10) All know it by that which it brings to

completion, but none know its formless being—that is called "T'ien." Only the Sage does not seek to know T'ien. 10

With the office of T'ien settled and the work of T'ien accomplished, the physical form is intact and the spirit is born.11 (11) Love, hate, pleasure, anger, grief, and joy

are assembled therein: these are called the "T'ien­like dispositions." The ears, eyes, nose, mouth, and body have their [realms of sensual] encounter without duplicative

ability: these are called the "T'ien­like faculties." (12) The heart dwells in the vacant center and thereby governs the five faculties: it is called the "T'ien­like ruler." It

molds things not of its species in order to nurture its species: this is called "T'ien­like nurturance." (13) It judges things that accord with their species to be fortunate and

judges things that discord with their species to be ill­fortuned: this is called "T'ien­like rule.''12

To darken one's T'ien­like ruler, bring disorder to one's T'ien­like faculties, forsake one's T'ien­like nurturance, discord with one's T'ien­like rule, (14) contravene

one's T'ien­like dispositions, and so dissipate T'ien's work: this is called "greatest evil." The Sage clears his T'ien­like ruler, rectifies his T'ien­like faculties, fulfills his

T'ien­like nurturance, follows his T'ien­like rule, (15) nurtures his T'ien­like dispositions, and so brings completion to T'ien's work.13

Thus, if one understands what he is to do and is not to do, then heaven and earth will fulfill their proper functions and the things of the world will serve him. (16) Acts

fully ruled, nurturance fully realized, in life suffering no injury: 14 this is called "knowing T'ien." Thus, the greatest craft lies in acts not taken, the greatest wisdom in

thoughts not pondered.15

[C]

(17) What man seeks from T'ien (the sky) should merely be its manifest images, by which time may be marked. What man seeks from earth should merely be that

which may be appropriated from it,16 which may be husbanded. What man seeks from the four seasons (18) should merely be their regular sequence, to which he can

act in response. What man seeks from the forces of yin and yang should merely be their harmonies, which he can employ to create order.17 Functionaries keep track

of T'ien; you must keep to the Way.18

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[D]

(19) Are order and disorder determined by the [action of] the heavens (t'ien)? [I] say: the [regularities] of the sun and moon, stars, planets, and constellations were

identical for both Yü and Chieh. Yü created order thereby; Chieh created disorder. Thus, order and disorder are not determined by the heavens. (20) Are they

determined by [the action of] the seasons? Proliferation and growth in spring and summer, harvest and storage in autumn and winter, this, too, was identical for Yü and

for Chieh. Yü created order thereby; Chieh created disorder. Thus, order and disorder are not determined by the seasons. (21) Are they determined by the land? He

who acquires land is able to live; he who loses his land will die: this, too, was identical for Yü and for Chieh. Yü created order thereby, Chieh created disorder. (22)

The Poetry puts it thus: "T'ien created the mountain tall, King T'ai brought cultivation to it; he having done so, King Wen brought peace to it." 19

[E]

T'ien does not suspend winter because people dislike cold; (23) earth does not contract its breadth because people dislike [traveling] great distances; the chün­tzu

does not curtail his actions because of the clamor of petty people. T'ien has a constant way; earth has constant progressions; (24) the chün­tzu has constancy of

person.20 The chün­tzu takes what is constant as his way; the petty person calculates his credits.21 The Poetry says: "[Undeviating in ritual and right,] why be

concerned what others may say?"22

[F]

That the king of Ch'u may have a retinue of a thousand chariots (25) does not mean that he is wise. That a chün­tzu may have only beans to eat and water to drink

does not mean that he is stupid. These are due to the rhythms of circumstance.23 To be refined in purpose, rich in virtue, and clear in thought;24 (26) to live in the

present but be devoted to the past 25 —these things are within one's own power. The chün­tzu attends to what is within his power and does not aspire to that which

is within the power of T'ien alone. The petty person defaults on what is within his power (27) and aspires to that which is within the power of T'ien alone. Because the

chün­tzu attends to what is within his power and does not aspire to that which is within the power of T'ien alone, he goes forward day by day. Because the petty

person defaults on what is within his power (28) and aspires to that

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which is within the power of T'ien alone, he goes backward day by day. Thus, the [pivots of] the chün­tzu's daily progress and the petty person's daily regress are [at

root] one. The difference between the two lies in this.

[G]

(29) When stars fall or trees sing, the people of the state all ask in terror, "What does this mean?" [I] say it means nothing. These are the changes of the heavens and

the earth, the transformations of yin and yang, (30) rare events in the world of things. It is proper to wonder at them; it is wrong to fear them. Eclipses of the sun or

moon, unseasonable rain or snow, the occasional appearance of strange stars: (31) there has never been an age without them. If the ruler is enlightened and his

government stable, then though these appear in series during his rule, no harm will be done. If the ruler is benighted and his government reckless, then though none of

these things occur, (32) it will be of no use. The falling of the stars, the singing of the trees, these are the changes of the heavens and the earth, the transformations of

yin and yang, rare events in the world of things. It is proper to wonder at them; it is wrong to fear them.

[H]

(33) Among events that may occur, those which should be feared are human portents. 26 When careless ploughing causes crops to suffer and those who weed leave

weeds behind, when government is reckless and loses the support of the people—the fields unkempt, the crops meager, grain sold dear and people starving, (34)

corpses lying in the road: these are what I mean by human portents. When government directives are unenlightened, the populace summoned to labor out of season,

agriculture left in disorder: these are what I mean by human portents. (35) When ritual and propriety are not cultivated, public and private affairs not properly

distinguished, when male and female mix wantonly and father and son doubt one another, when superior and inferior become estranged, when banditry and invasion

appear in tandem: these are what I mean by human portents. (36) Such portents are born of chaos; if all three types occur at once, there can be no peace for the state.

The reasons 27 are so near at hand; the catastrophe so tragic!

[I]

When labors are unseasonable, cows and horses give birth to one another's progeny and prodigies appear among the six types of livestock.

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(37) It is proper to wonder at this; it is wrong to fear it. The teachings say: The prodigies of the world of things should be recorded but not explained. 28 Analyses that

have no application, investigations that do not proceed from urgency: these should be discarded and not cultivated. (38) As for the proprieties governing ruler and

minister, the affinities governing father and son, and the role distinctions governing husband and wife, these should be unceasingly refined.29

[J]

When performance of the great rain dance is followed by rain, what does this mean? [I] say it means nothing. It is as though the rain dance had not been performed

and it had rained. (39) The rituals of "saving" the sun and moon when they are eclipsed, of performing the rain dance in times of drought, of divining with bone and

milfoil before deciding a great matter, these are not performed as means of gaining an end; they are means of ornamenting (wen) [action]. (40) The chün­tzu

understands them as ornamental, the populace understands them as spiritual. Understanding them as ornamental leads to good fortune; understanding them as spiritual

leads to ill fortune.

[K]

In the heavens, nothing is more brilliant than the sun and the moon. On earth, nothing is more brilliant than water and fire. (41) Among things, nothing is more brilliant

than pearls and jade. Amidst mankind, nothing is more brilliant than ritual and propriety. If the sun and moon were not high, their brilliance would not shine. If water

and fire do not collect into masses, (42) their [powers to] brighten and moisten will not be spread abroad. If pearl and jade are not polished then kings and dukes will

not regard them as treasures. If ritual and propriety are not applied to the state, then the fame of its accomplishments will not become known. Thus it is said: (43) The

lifespan of a man resides with T'ien; the lifespan of a state lies in li.30 If he who rules men exalts li and honors the worthy, he will rule as king; if he lays stress on laws

and values the people, he will rule as hegemon; if he loves profit and proliferates deceit, he will rule in danger; if he relies on calculating schemes, (44) subversion and

perilous secrecy, he will be totally destroyed.

[L]

Exalt T'ien and contemplate it?

Rather, husband its creatures and so regulate it!

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Follow T'ien and sing hymns to it?

Rather, regulate T'ien's mandate and use it! 31

(45) Look upon the seasons and await them?

Rather, respond to the seasons and exploit them!

Accept things as they are and increase them?

Rather, give rein to talents and transform them!

Contemplate things and treat them as givens?

Rather, create order among things and

(46) unfailingly [seize their potential]!

Long for the source from which things are born?

Rather, promote the means whereby they are

brought to completion!

Hence, to set aside man and contemplate T'ien is to mistake the basic nature of things.32

[M]

(47) That which [abided] unchanged through the reigns of the hundred kings [of antiquity] may serve as the linking thread of the Way. Respond to the transience of

affairs with this thread; all principles will be linked without disorder. If you do not know how to link [things in this way], you will not know how to respond to change.

The essence of this linking thread has never ceased to be.33 (48) Disorder is born of deviating from it; order exhausts its every aspect.

Hence, [in pursuing] the goodness of the Way, follow what fully accords with it; what distorts it one must not do; to mistake it is the greatest confusion. When men

wade across rivers, (49) they mark the deep pits. If the markers are not clear, others will drown. Those who rule people [must]mark the Way. If the markers are not

clear, there is chaos. The li are the markers. To reject li is to darken the world, and a darkened world is in greatest chaos. (50) Thus, if the Way is made thoroughly

clear, if inner and outer are distinctly marked, if there is regularity in the hidden and the manifest, then the pits which drown the people will be removed.

[N]

The world of things is but a corner of the Way; one [species of] thing is but a corner of the world of things. A foolish man is but a corner of one [species of] thing, (51)

yet he believes he knows the Way. He is without wisdom.34

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Shen Tzu could see [the advantages of] being last, but could not see [the advantages of] being first. Lao Tzu could see [the advantages of] being bent, but could not

see [the advantages of] holding straight. (52) Mo Tzu saw [the advantages of] of equality, but could not see [the advantages of] inequality. Sung Tzu saw [the

advantages of] few [desires], but could not see [the advantages of] many.

If all are last and none first, then there can be no gateway for the masses. If all are bent and none hold straight, (53) then the eminent and the humble cannot be

distinguished. If all are equal without inequalities then commands of government cannot be carried out. If all have few [desires] and none have many, then there is no

means of transforming the masses. The Documents puts it this way: (54) "Do not love doing any one thing; [only] follow the Way of the king. Do not hate doing any

one thing; [only] follow the path of the king." 35

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NOTES

Introduction

1. Frequently, statements in Confucian texts that seem highly suggestive in terms of traditional Western philosophical categories are not developed sufficiently to allow

us to do more than adumbrate Confucian answers to Western questions. This is not a matter of undisciplined thinking on the part of Confucians, it reflects differences

in the philosophical enterprises in Chinese and Western traditions (see the discussion in Hall and Ames 1987:1­5). In the Mencius passage, for example, it would not

be legitimate to claim that the focus on "knowing" signals an entailment with an epistemological theory. Neither the term "to know" (chih) nor the structure of the

Confucian quest for understanding corresponds with any precision to comparable dimensions of Western epistemological theory (Hall and Ames 1987:68).

2. In our discussions, whenever the word "T'ien" appears, without italics and generally without quotation marks, the word is being used as if it were denoting a

hypothetical entity in the world, much the same as if the term that appeared were "God," "Nature," or "Heaven.'' In this usage, the Chinese word is simply treated as an

anglicized term. On the other hand, whenever the term itself, rather than the hypothetical entity, is being discussed, it appears italicized and in quotation marks: "t'ien."

3. I have rendered Fung's terms somewhat differently from Bodde (Fung 1952:31). Fu Pei­jung has recently developed an expanded list based on Fung's categories

as part of a sustained study of the role of T'ien in early Confucianism and Taoism (Fu 1984). Fu's analysis focuses on expanding the categories of T'ien as Ruler or

God and T'ien as Nature, and his finely nuanced model represents an improvement on Fung's basic scheme.

4. Fu Pei­jung (1984) is an exception in that he does not focus on an evolutionary model.

5. These translations do not necessarily represent the interpretations I would choose for each of the passages (see chapter IV). The meaning of "t'ien" in several of

them has been the subject of debate. I have rendered the passages here so as to illustrate the issue of ambiguity.

6. This point has been made by Paul Seligman, from whom the phrase "key term" is borrowed (1962:4).

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7. John Dardess has illustrated how the vagueness of the term "Confucianism" can be subversive of clear analysis even in the context of late imperial China, the era

whose history tends most to color our use of the term (1983:7­8).

8. Transcribing the Chinese term for Confucians as "Ru" rather than "Ju" departs from the norms of the modified Wade­Giles transcription system used in this book. I

do this because the word and its anglicized derivatives are central to this study, and I do not wish to burden readers unaware that a Wade­Giles ''j" is close to an

English "r" with so recurrent a pronunciation trap. "Ruism" is an unlovable mongrel, but at least it looks as it sounds. (Problems of the origin and meaning of the term

"ju" are discussed in appendix B.) It should also be noted that the transcriptions in this book employ umlauts only to avoid phonetic ambiguity, not, for example, in

syllables such as "hsu" or "yuan."

9. I would not like to claim that this accurately describes the ontological assumptions of all Western philosophy, but I do think it represents an enduring ground of

philosophical commonsense. The most explicit statement of this point of view of which I am aware is that given by Wittgenstein in his "Tractatus" (1922:2.1­2.2,

especially 2.18). The early Wittgenstein, of course, recognized that there might be more to the world than this, but barred the remainder from the arena of philosophy.

10. These ideas inform the portrait of human beings as intrinsically relational, which is the focus of chapter III.

11. This idea is fully compatible with the notion of a Confucian "ontology of events," described in Hall and Ames 1984: "Confucian philosophy entails an ontology of

events, not one of substances. Understanding human events does not require recourse to 'qualities,' 'attributes,' or 'characteristics' "(15).

12. "Tao" may mean "a path" or "a method," or the verb "to speak," all of which senses seem to lie behind its use to mean "a teaching." An excellent discussion of the

word appears in Hansen 1983a.

13. The Taoist philosopher Chuang Tzu seems to claim that a tao is inherently a system of practice, and as such not subject to discursive judgments of true and false.

It is the growth of the verbal component into a rational system, which commits the teaching to an ontology—for Chuang Tzu a necessarily invalid commitment—that

renders a tao inauthentic as a practical matrix and false as doctrine (CT:2.23­26).

14. Mohist commitments to logic are most evident in neo­Mohist analytics, which have been extensively studied by A. C. Graham and Chad Hansen. But the Mohist

conviction that universally held powers of

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reason can adjudicate issues of truth is equally evident in the earlier discourses. For example, in its famous chapters on "Universal Love," the Mo Tzu repeatedly

concludes its semi­syllogistic arguments by appeal to a common power of people's minds to see their self­evident validity: "Having heard of this explanation of

universality, I cannot see any reason why men would think to confute it"(MT, Chien­ai 111:4.11­12).

15. An important impetus for this approach was Gilbert Ryle's argument that the boundary between motor and cognitive skills is not absolute (1949: Ch.2).

16. "The first evidence of capacity to organize appears in the development of habitual actions [termed] schemata. Their chief characteristic, whatever their nature or

complexity, is that they are organized wholes, frequently repeated . . . " (Beard 1969:3). Piaget's schemata represent the lower level of the spectrum of skill acquisition

as it generates conceptual/ behavioral structures. In light of Ryle's demonstration that the boundary dividing motor and cognitive skills is problematic, we can suggest

that at the upper end of the spectrum we would find such structures being generated from skill manipulation fully displaced into cognitive activity. Thomas Kuhn has

described the networks of theory that govern each branch of the natural sciences (and Science as a whole) as "paradigms" that organize perception of the natural field

and dictate the synthesis of new ideas (1962:10­11, 43­51). If we were to seriously link Piaget's schemata and Kuhn's paradigms, it might suggest that the

perspectives of all intellectual activity (including analytic philosophy) and their self­evident axioms are ultimately bound to the repertoires of skill possessed by those

who engage in these activities.

17. The most succinct expression of Polanyi's thought, which has greatly influenced this study, is his essay The Tacit Dimension (1966).

18. The power of complex skill systems to generate value perspectives and influence individual commitments is described by Alasdair Maclntyre in his theory of

"practices" as ethical enterprises (1984:187­203).

19. For a discussion of this theory of embodiment and its relation to meaning, see Eno 1984: 23­27. The Chuang Tzu has a passage in which a master swimmer

describes his skill, and the description suggests an extreme notion of skill embodiment, where an individual's nature is actually constituted, after birth, through skill

mastery: "My being born on dry land and feeling at home there" the swimmer says, "is my primitive endowment (ku). I grew up in the water and became at home

there: this is my nature (hsing)" (CT: 19.53­54). It is not surprising to find resonances of this sort between early Taoism and Ruism, as we will describe it. These two

schools stand opposed to the other major schools of Mohism and Legalism in that the former were essentially

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tao­philosophies, wherein doctrine grew out of practice, whereas the other two were less so: for them, doctrine was the essential element.

20. An example would be A: 17.19, in which Ruist mourning rites are rationalized in a manner that might satisfy an uncritical audience, but which James Legge justly

termed "puerile."

21. It is important to make clear that in the analyses of the term "t'ien" that will occupy the second part of this book we will frequently find ourselves involved with

issues of referential rather than instrumental meaning. This is because the Ruist texts that are our sole route of access into the school do, in fact, create an elaborate, if

shaky, theoretical architecture. We will always need to set this architecture straight in order to look beyond to the practical issues that generated it. Basically, however,

the theoretical approach that governs issues of word meaning in this study is an adaptation of "use­theories" derived from Wittgenstein's later thought (particularly

Wittgenstein 1953). This approach can be distinguished from earlier studies of early Confucian concepts of T'ien in that previous work has implicitly adopted an

''ideational theory" in which word meanings are viewed as referential to a "mental concept" (Alston 1964:22­25), whereas we would assume that in each instance of

usage meaning is a function of how usage "fits" the context of the enterprise underway: that even in philosophy— synthetic or analytic—words are employed to realize

life goals and meaning is ultimately reducible to these. (For those familiar with the terminology developed in J. L. Austin's analyses of language, the level of meaning of

greatest interest to us is generally the "perlocutionary" function [1962:94­107].) These issues are discussed in detail in Eno 1984:17­23.

22. Arthur Danto has made a number of insightful observations concerning the significance of the philosopher as model in Chinese thought (see his "Postscript" to

Munro 1985), and an excellent discussion of the holistic role of the teacher also appears in Fingarette 1983. On the enormous importance of the model in early

Confucianism and in Chinese thought and society in general, see Munro 1969:96­102. The importance of mimicry in learning philosophy has not been generally

acknowledged in the West, but Merleau­Ponty observed, "I begin to understand a philosophy by feeling my way into its existential manner; by reproducing the tone

and accent of the philosopher" (1962:179).

Chapter I

1. Compare Hsun Tzu's economic theory of the origins of li (H:19.1­3).

2. It is difficult to characterize properly the political structure of the

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Shang polity. I use the term "tribe" to indicate the probable insularity and independence of the local territorial­lineage units of Shang culture, relative to the later

situation under the Chou (on the ad hoc nature of Shang political structure, see Keightley 1983:548­51). The complexities of the issue of Shang political structure

are well represented in Morton Fried's analysis of the applicability of the term "tribe" with regard to the Shang polity and its neighbors (1983).

3. The best overview of the process by which the oracle texts have broadened our understanding of early Chinese society in English is Tung 1964 (updated in Chinese

as Tung 1974; for a recent survey, see Wu and P'an 1985). On the oracle materials themselves, Keightley's study (1978) is incomparable.

4. Some scholars have suggested that the complexity of the Shang pantheon is due in part to a process of religious cooptation, whereby early Shang rulers

consolidated their influence over an expanding polity by incorporating into royal religious structures deities of border tribes newly absorbed into the Shang political

network (Hsu 1984:96­7).

5. The generic term for ritual sacrifice, "ssua," became, during the late Shang, synonymous with "nien" ("harvest") in denoting ''year."

6. The oracle texts refer to many types of religious actors; among them: diviners, liturgists (chu), shamans (wua), and scribes (shiha); on their religious origins, see

Shirakawa 1974:5­17.

7. For a survey of issues concerning the rise of the Chou, see Hsu 1984:33­70.

8. The date of the conquest is according to Nivison 1983a. (Nivison himself has suggested a revised date [1982­83], but his original calculations have been defended

by Shaughnessy [1985­87:56n27].) For an account of King Wu's war dance, see KY, Chou­yü III:3.24.

9. The most extensive English account of Western Chou political organization appears in Creel 1970:317­87. For a detailed study of Western Chou feudalism

incorporating more recent archaeological finds, see Hsu 1984:139­73. As is customary in describing Chou society, I use terms drawn from European feudalism,

despite the fact that Chou "feudalism" was a very different species of political structure.

10. David Nivison has compiled an impressive revised chronology of the Western Chou using both the Bamboo Annals and other traditional sources as well as

bronze inscriptions dated according to his own complex formulas (1983). Nivison's account generally marks the crises in Western Chou politics, and if it is borne in

mind that the period covered comprises two and one­half centuries, these seem few indeed.

11. Judging by accounts of the period in the Shih­chi and Chu­shu chi­nien and by the evidence of the bronze inscriptions, after King Ch'eng and the Duke of Chou

put down a rebellion during the first years of King

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Ch'eng's reign, Chou military activity until the early ninth century was directed against "barbarian" tribes within and outside the borders of the Chou polity, and

these campaigns were generally successful, apart from setbacks under King Chao in the mid­tenth century. This would not indicate any weakness on the part of

the dynasty; campaigns against barbarians could equally be a sign of vigor.

12. The portrait of the Western Chou presented here relies primarily on inscriptional material, supplemented in a few instances by sections of the Poetry. I do not cite

material from the Documents chiefly because I am unsure of the historical status of that text. My scepticism extends to those twelve chapters accepted as "genuine" by

Creel (1970:447­63; most scholars are less critical than Creel and accept a much broader range of chapters). The chief reasons for my scepticism, briefly stated, are

as follows: (1) The tradition that Documents texts were faithfully transmitted over centuries because they were regarded as "sacred" is belied by the presence of

acknowledged forgeries in the book and the existence of variant versions of the texts revealed through divergent citations in pre­Ch'in texts; (2) The profusion of

Ruist­flavored value words in presumably authentic chapters purporting to date from the early Chou is anachronistic when compared with contemporary inscriptional

material; (3) The current text of the Documents was only one of a number that circulated during the Han. The interested role of the Ruists who "recovered" it from the

recitations of an elderly scholar (who, according to tradition, possessed a heavy dialect accent) created likely conditions for misunderstandings, tampering, or forgery;

(4) With the exception of the K'ang­kao and possibly the Chiu­kao chapters, none of the other chapters accepted by Creel are cited in pre­Ch'in texts (see

Matsumoto 1966:543, 641,678­79 [chart]). For these reasons, I prefer not to rely on the Documents for evidence of early Chou thought and practice. I should note

that my caution applies primarily to those sections of texts that purport to be ''transcripts" of speeches, rather than to prefatory statements concerning historical events.

It is interesting that the Shih­fu chapter of the Yi Chou­shu, which Edward Shaughnessy has persuasively argued to be a preserved pre­Ch'in version of the lost "Wu­

ch'eng" chapter of the Documents (1980­81), is almost entirely narrative, whereas almost all chapters of the current Documents text are primarily of the "transcript"

variety. For a fuller discussion of these issues, see Eno 1984:122­24. A discussion of Western Chou ideology and the role of T'ien in it based entirely on the

Documents and Poetry appears in Fu 1984:28­75.

13. See Benjamin Schwartz's balanced assessment of the nature of the early Chou success (1985:41­45).

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14. Elaborate legend clouds the historical record concerning the Duke of Chou. What seems certain is that he seized power upon the death of his brother, King Wu,

about two years after the conquest, to rule as regent during the minority of the late king's son. Several of King Wu's other brothers raised a revolt, apparently in the

belief that the Duke's true intent was to usurp the throne over their competing claims. The revolt was put down by the Duke's forces, protecting the legitimacy of the

royal lineage. But the act constituting the Duke's greatest contribution to the sanctified aura of the Chou throne was probably the fulfillment of his vow to restore his

nephew to the throne, he himself eventually retiring after order had been fully secured. An argument that the Duke's role was, in fact, far less significant than

traditionally maintained appears in Barnard 1965:33941.

15. A few inscriptions exist that are legal in nature, recording the settling of land disputes, and so forth. But even in these cases, the casting of a ritual vessel to seal the

outcome and report it on the tools of ancestral sacrifice suggests a highly rituatized context of contract settlement.

16. Some sources indicate that Chou li was the exclusive province of the aristocratic class (H:10.18­19; LC, Ch'ü­li I:1.14a). Others imply that this was not the case

(H:12.54; KY, Ch'u­yü:18:4­5).

17. See, for example, Poetry. 266: "How many the knights, possessing patterned virtue (wen­te)!"

18. See Eno 1984:204n39. For variants, see Glossary (wena).

19. The character appears in the form of a bird (wenb) on the Fu Ting tou (K'o­chai:17.18b). The word "wen" was used to denote one category of dance, most

likely dances in animal and bird costumes; the name for a complementary category of war dances, "wu," probably denoted dances with weapons (see Eno

1984:204n39). On the possible connection between ritual dances in animal costumes and the name of the Ruist school, see appendix B.

20. The earliest example of "wen" used in this way is the Pao yu inscription (Ch'en 1955­56:1.157). The piece dates from the first decades of the Chou. On the

connection of the word "huang" with dance, see Ikeda 1955:76­77 and, especially, Kuo 1962:6­7.

21. Other well attested early meanings of the word, such as "patterned animal skin," and "tattoo," seem clearly connected with the notion of dancers costumed in

animal skins or painted with their patterns. Which usage is strictly "original" is arguable.

22. As in dance, the terms "wen" and "wu" formed a complementary pair in naming kings. This usage might not have originated with the Chou; the Shang referred to

a pair of kings whose sacrificial ceremonies fell on the same day of the calendrical cycle by the paired names "wen"

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and "wen­wu."

23. The graph "li" does not appear in early bronze inscriptions; rituals are named individually. The cognate graph "lie": "sweet wine," does appear in the phrase

"wang ch'ing [=hsiang] li" "the king held a ceremonial banquet (with ritual wine?)'' (San­nien Hsing hu; Ch'ang Ts'ung ho; Shih Chü fang­yi). Another graph,

"feng," may have been used as a loan for "li" (Ta feng kuei; on the reliability of which, however, see Eno 1984:112n32). However, neither of these graphs was

used to refer to ritual in general, only to specific instances.

In the Poetry, we encounter the word "li" in six poems, and, in contrast to the bronze texts, the word is sometimes used to refer not to an instance of li, but to li

as a body of codes, as in: "I am not plundering; my acts accord with li" (193/5). However, in only one instance does "li" seem to denote a general category of

action: "A man without li: shall he not soon die?" (52/3). (The word does appear in the "Chou­shu" section of the Documents, albeit very rarely, and there it does

carry the generic sense of ritual, but see note 12).

24. See the discussion in Creel 1970:93­99.

25. This had not been the case in the Shang. There are inscriptions that portray the Shang high god Ti as the potential adversary of the king and the state (see the

divination examples in Ch'en 1956:570­71, where Ti is pictured as potentially destroying the capital of the Shang).

26. The virtual identity of king and T'ien seems to suggest a clear and simple structure to Chou religious practice. Nothing could be further from the truth. The mandate

theory probably had little impact on the complex religious practices of the time. For a description of Chou religious practice as a complex of three levels—state, clan,

and popular—see Eno 1984:83­85.

27. Bronze inscriptional sources are consistent with this portrait. We occasionally see the king sacrifice at T'ien's altar (e.g., the Ho tsun inscription), but we do not

see others sacrifice or pray to T'ien. Late Chou and early Han texts claim this as a rule, and deviations are condemned as unsanctioned (see Eno 1984:86­88).

28. Ta yü ting, Ta­hsi: 3.34a. Reign dates for Western Chou kings are according to Nivison 1983.

29. See Kuo Mo­jo's commentary in WW 1972:9.2­10. I am taking "ch'ien" as a loan for "ch'iena": "to send off," rather than as a name; "ch'ien­ling" thus are the

"marching orders" issued by the king. "Ch'eng" is read as "peace" a well attested use, rather than as "complete." The graph "tu" is read as "yif," "sated," rather than

"defeat."

30. Taking the first "wang" as "mang": "darkened, ignorant," to go with "mei" of the same sense, and changing the metaphor from blindness

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to deafness. "Ts'ai" is read as "tsai" "disaster," a common loan. "Yi" is translated as "all,'' an extension of its meaning as "norm."

31. The Pan kuei is sometimes dated to the reign of King Ch'eng, in which case "deaf to T'ien's orders" might imply an unwillingness to acknowledge the change of

dynasties. But some commentators have suggested that the vessel should be dated to the reign of King Chao (977­957) (Hsu 1984:178­79), and I suspect that

calligraphic evidence might support an even later dating (see Eno 1984:127n112).

32. This contrasts with the portrait of the Shang high god Ti revealed in the oracle texts. Ti is by no means a predictable force, and little or no sense of ethical

regularity to Ti's actions is found.

33. Fu kuei, WW 1979:4.89­90. The piece is assigned to King Li on the basis of T'ang Lan's identification of Fu with Hu, which was, according to the Shih­chi, the

personal name of King Li. Note that Shirakawa rejects the identification (KBTS:18.274­75). In my translation here, I take "p'in" in the sense of "she": "cross over a

river," linked with "chih­chiang": "ascending and descending," all in the sense of picturing the movement entailed in rendering service to Ti by carrying out his orders.

My understanding of the inscription has benefited from suggestions by Anne Behnke and Bill Savage.

34. For the text and dating of the Yü ting, see Hsu 1959.

35. It is so dated by Kuo and Shirakawa (Ta­hsi:3.135b; Shirakawa 1963­64: 3.21). The date has been a matter of extensive dispute, with scholars placing it as

early as the eleventh century B.C. and as late as the seventh (see KBTS: 30.689­700).

36. Reading "min" ("pitying") in the sense of its antonym.

37. This is an important point because it distinguishes the action of T'ien pictured in these inscriptions from the theory of T'ien's ethical perfection as presented in the

Documents. In that text (and in certain parts of the Poetry), T'ien punishes kings only if they lack virtue: it is a just and responsive punishment. This formula provides

for the prescriptive perfection of T'ien by assigning all evil to human beings as causes. But we do not find this idea in the bronze inscriptions. Perhaps the later kings

simply did not have the intellectual power or personal inclination to shoulder the burden of keeping T'ien pure, even though the dynastic founders had given them the

rhetorical basis to do so. If the early Chou chapters of the Documents are not viewed as genuinely early, then the doctrine of the "mandate" probably was only

partially elaborated during the early Chou, holding prescriptively that the king had to work hard to be worthy of the mandate, and that the mandate could be

withdrawn, but not stressing the descriptive implication that if T'ien withdrew the mandate it meant that the king had not been

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worthy. If T'ien were not ethically perfect, this would not be a necessary implication, and these late kings obviously preferred not to draw it, instead suggesting the

waywardness of T'ien.

38. Note that the authenticity of this inscription (the Shih P'ou kuei, which survives only in the form of a hand copy [Ta­hsi:3.139a]) is borne out by a different but

formally similar inscription on an attested vessel, the Shih Hung kuei (Barnard 1965:365­67). (Shirakawa renders the title as the Shih Hsun kuei [KBTS:31.710].)

39. Ch'in Kung kuei (Ta­hsi:3.247a). For the date (early seventh century B.C.) see WW 1978:11.1­3, which discusses the similar text of the lately excavated Ch'in

Kung chung. I am reading "mi" as a graphic variant of "shang," in accord with this latter inscription.

40. Hsu Wang Yi­ch'u chuan (Ta­hsi:3.162a). Note also the inscription of the Tseng Po X fu (3.186a) that prays that T'ien will bestow its blessings, a usurpation of

the king's exclusive prerogative to address T'ien.

41. On the origins of the term "t'ien," see appendix A.

42. I take "ch'e" in the sense of the Mao­chuan, as a loan for che: "cart track" (see Karlgren 1944:92; Karlgren does not accept this gloss).

43. For example, referring to the evils of King Yu's consort: "This disorder did not fall from T'ien, it was born of a woman" (Poetry:264/3). In upbraiding incompetent

officials, another poem says, "The sufferings of the people did not fall from T'ien," implying it was caused by mortal ministers (193/7). (The language of these poems

suggests that these statements may be more ironic than substantive, perhaps better translated, "These evils did not fall from the sky.")

44. Ikeda's many examples are primarily drawn from the Tso­chuan; for instance: "I have heard it said that when a country has no virtue (wu tao) and the harvests

are abundant, it is T'ien aiding it" (Chao 1). It is important to distinguish T'ien as Fate, in the sense of an amoral deity, and the idea that T'ien is moral but "works in

mysterious ways," and so may not seem moral at certain times. When Mencius says, "My not meeting the Marquis of Lu was due to T'ien" (1B. 16), he does not mean

that T'ien has done evil, but that T'ien's ethical plans required this unfortunate interlude.

Chapter II

1. The term "li" may apply to ceremonial ritual, including religious ritual, and also to most forms of social etiquette. Ruists did not generally distinguish these two

senses of the word, and it is likely that for them, the two dimensions were not distinct. I use the term here to refer indiscriminately to both aspects, defining li as

"stylized behavior that

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accords with explicit traditional norms." The word "li" can be used as a singular noun, denoting a particular rule or set of rules, or it can be used as a plural,

collective noun.

2. The detail of prescript in Ruist li is truly remarkable. Even in the Analects, the detail of routine etiquette is evident in rules such as, "Once having lain down, one

does not speak" (A:10.6), and, "One does not sleep in the position of a corpse" (A:10.17).

3. See, for example, MT, Kung Meng:12.10a. Even Ruists acknowledged that li were subject to change (A:2.23, 3.9, 9.3).

4. In discussing ritual in these terms, I do not mean to imply that no other significant aspects are found. The value of this simple schema is only that it helps us speak

more clearly about how the role of ritual changed during the Chou.

5. This sort of belief might be part of a systematic cosmology that explains natural/supernatural entailments, or it might belong to unintellectualized superstition.

6. Fingarette offers a modern example of this subtle power of ritual. In democratic America, nearly everyone shakes hands upon meeting, and the form of the ritual is

very narrow. But the variety and subtlety of information passed through the simple handshake­strong, fishy, hearty, cursory­ is impressive indeed (1972:9­10).

7. Many instances of this ritual are described in the Tso­chuan. Perhaps the most intricate and moving appears at Chao 16 (TC:23.49­50).

8. The Yi­li is a collection of ceremonial codes and scripts, probably incorporating some early materials, but showing a Ruist influence that indicates a rather late date

of final editing (following Liang Ch'i­ch'ao in WSTK:279­80).

9. These observations are consistent with the model of ritual action presented in Fingarette 1972:chapter I. Fingarette articulates this theory through a discussion of

ritual acts as forms of performative utterance.

10. This interpretation relies upon M:3B.7 and assumes that Yang Huo is identical with the Lu usurper Yang Hu, an assumption not accepted by all interpreters. Note

that although the Analects passage indicates preliminary assent, Confucius apparently did not serve Yang Huo.

11. This passage may have been incorporated into the text rather late (Kimura 1971:410). It appears to be an attempt to coopt the Taoist­Legalist ideal of non­

striving (wu­wei) by giving it a ritual cast (suggested by the word "reverence" [kung]), and portraying it in a Ruist model.

12. On the Shang rain dance (yüb), see Ch'en 1956:599­603. Numerous references show that the dance was performed throughout the Chou.

13. Many early ritual dances were probably war dances. The Chou­li indicates that warriors were under the tutelage of a dance master, who

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drilled them in a variety of sacrificial dances (Ti­kuan, Wu­shih: 3.36b­37a). The Kuo­yü description of King Wu's war dance, noted earlier, shows that the

practice of war dance was understood during the Chou. Battles were directed by the same musical symbols that directed dance: drums initiated attacks, gongs

brought them to a close (H:15.58­9). Terminology also suggests a link between dance and war. Leaders of troops were known as "shihd" during the early Chou

(as many bronze inscriptions show). Later, the term is applied to teachers and, more particularly, to music masters. (Early evidence for this overlap appears in

Western Chou sources; see, for example, the Shih Li kuei inscription [KBTS:31. 767­75].) Ikeda Suetoshi has argued that the word "wu": "war," was cognate

with its exact homophone: "dance" (1955:74). See also Tong Kin­woon's recent demonstrations of the extensive influence of music and dance on the lexicon of the

oracle texts (1983).

14. I do not mean to suggest that a complete correspondence exists between what is ethically right and what is aesthetically right, but only that the overlap is

recognizable and significant enough for aesthetic criteria to serve as "rules of thumb" in guiding much ethical action. See the discussions in Hall and Ames 1987:105,

266.

15. In its earliest uses, "yi" seems to have denoted external standards of correct action and demeanor rather than an abstract idea of moral rightness. Chou

inscriptional usage makes no graphemic distinction between "yi" and "yia," and they were, at root, one (Eno 1984:201n18).

16. "If one were to exhaust li in serving one's lord, people [today] would take it to be toadying" (A:3.18).

17. This is evidenced by many passages in Mohist and Taoist texts, for example, TTC:38.

18. Such ethical attitudes are reflected in the challenge to Ruist ritualism that appears in the Analects: "A chün­tzu should simply be naturally honest (chihb), what has

he to do with refinements of style (wen)?" (A:12.8).

19. Few topics of comparable importance in Chinese history are less accessible to us than the biography of Confucius. The real man is shrouded in a tradition of

hagiography that began shortly after his death and continued unabated for centuries (see Creel 1949:182­210). For a recently published biography of Confucius that

incorporates the broadest range of late material, see K'uang 1985:32­104. In this section, we are confining ourselves to the outlines of Confucius' career, upon which

sources generally agree.

20. On Confucius' birth date, see Ch'ien 1956:1­2.

21. The Mencius reports that Confucius' early career included tenures as

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a granary clerk and supervisor of crops (M:5B.5). The Tso­chuan, Shih­chi, and K'ung Tzu chia­yü include accounts of Confucius' life that grow increasingly

detailed as their distance in time from Confucius grows.

22. "When I was young I was of humble station" (A:9.6). There is considerable evidence that Confucius' forbears were natives of the state of Sung and, hence, were

descendants of the Shang (e.g., TC, Chao 7:21.67­9; LC T'an­kung:2.10b).

23. Shirakawa has suggested that Confucius was trained in li because he was the son of a sorceress (1972:16­24).

24. Certain passages suggest that Confucius held some official rank in Lu during his last years (A:11.8, 13.14, 14.21), but their tone and vagueness may indicate that

the rank was honorary and his political influence nil.

25. Again, the living Confucius' rank seems to rise proportionate to the source's distance from his death.

26. See Dubs 1946.

27. For details of the chronology, see Ch'ien 1956:26­51.

28. According to the Tso­chuan (Ai 11:29.62­65, 75) and the Shih­chi (47.1934), the influence of Jan Ch'iu brought about Confucius' return to Lu.

29. On the date of Confucius' death, see Ch'ien 1956:58­60.

30. The traditional tale of the way Confucius became a teacher appears in the Tso­chuan (Chao 7:21.67­9), where the dying nobleman Meng Hsitzu orders that his

sons be entrusted to the young Confucius' tutelage. I do not feel that the anecdote, as it stands, is historically credible.

31. On Tzu­lu's tenure with the Chi family, see A:16.1; TC, Ting 12:28.32. Although tradition has it that Tzu­lu first received political office through Confucius'

recommendation, he probably was involved in politics prior to studying with Confucius (see Eno 1984:203n36). On Jan Ch'iu and the Chi family, see A:11.17, 16.1.

32. The sense that society was disintegrating in civil war may have been heightened in Confucius' time by the unraveling of a reasonably effective general armistace,

concluded in 546 B.C., shortly after the birth of Confucius. Calculating by the Tso­chuan record, a sharp drop in interstate military activity in the northern areas of the

Chou polity occurred during the second half of the sixth century, particularly marked in the states of Sung, Confucius' ancestral state, and Lu, his homeland. By the

turn of the century, however, the era of relative peace was apparently at an end (see TCHC, Hsiang 27:18.42­43; Legge 1872:534­35).

33. As Mohist texts point out (see chapter V).

34. A:8.8 is a nine­word literary masterpiece. "Rise up" (hsingb) is a pun on the literary device used to open many odes in the Poetry (for a thoughtful interpretation of

the term, see Chen 1974:14­24); "stand"

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("lic") plays on near coincidences of word imagery and sound with ritual "li," a device used several times in the Analects; the term for "complete," "ch'eng," was

also used to denote a musical coda.

35. In the Analects there is sometimes a sense that style is not as important as are simple prescriptive rules and right attitudes (A:1.6). Elsewhere, however, it is a

defining aspect of the chün­tzu (A:6.18). Perhaps we can understand this apparent conflict by reasoning that style was, in practical terms, a central Ruist concern, but

that philosophically it could not be ethically legitimized independent of other ethical notions, such as li and jen. It could not be a cardinal value. But in places, the

Analects seems to get around this by using "wen" in an extended sense to denote right conduct (A:5.15, 14.18). And in one passage, style even has a certain

practical priority over jen: "Tseng Tzu said, 'A chün­tzu relies on his style to attract friends, and he relies on his friends to support his jen' " (A:12.24).

36. This approach would have distinguished the Ru from other groups traditionally committed to ritual, such as the shamans (wua) and liturgists (chu).

37. This distinction was never clearly worked out. Ruists consistently maintained a doctrine of natural equality that undercut the legitimacy of hereditary privilege

(Munro 1969:1­16), but hereditary privilege was also a form of li; hence, legitimate. The only consistent Ruist position on hereditary privilege was that the abuse of it

was contrary to li; hence, it could be forfeited.

38. This phrase could be a late interpolation (Tsuda 1946:141). Fingarette, who has written eloquently about this aspect of ritual behavior, refers to this as the "magic"

of li (1972:3­5).

39. This imperative is implicit in the Analects' advocacy of li as a social program (e.g., A:2.3 4.13, etc.). The notion of an ideal society completely ritualized is evident

throughout the "political chapters" of the Hsun Tzu (chaps. 8­16), for example, H:9.64­74, 10.29­35, 12.50­55, 16.4­5.

40. We may note that the employment of talent in preference to hereditary appointment was a growing fact of Warring States China. When the Ruists spoke of

"putting the straight over the crooked" (i.e., promoting the virtuous), the "crooked" were increasingly not decadent aristocrats but political adventurers, with whom

Ruists generally maintained an adversarial relationship.

41. This is, of course, not true of the ritual texts, which do describe activities. However, these texts have not captured the attention of Western writers as have the

more philosophical texts, such as the Analects, Mencius, and Hsun Tzu.

42. A note on terminology is due here. In the course of this essay, we will

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use the word "Sage" as our descriptive term for the Ruist ideal of human perfection. In Ruist texts, several terms can be used to denote this ideal. The term

"sheng­jen" almost always denotes this ideal. The term chün­tzu (often translated as "gentleman") is sometimes virtually equivalent to "sheng­jen," but it can also

denote a person on the path toward perfection, and it is occasionally used in its pre­Ruist sense of "noble son'' (on this term see Hsu 1965:158­74). Other terms

such as "hsien­che" or "ta­jen" can also denote the ideal of the Sage (but the former more often means something less). In general, when translating directly, we

will render "sheng­jen" as "Sage," leave chün­tzu untranslated and translate other terms with words other than "Sage." However, when we interpret the sense of

the texts, we will use "Sage" to denote the prescriptive ideal regardless of which term may be used in the original text.

43. The meaning of this passage should be understood in terms of the passages that precede it. A:3.1­2 describe usurpations of royal Chou li by the leading warlord

families of Lu. A:3.3 criticizes these warlords, and also accounts for why their attempt to emulate the rituals of the Sage Kings will not result in kingly government.

44. This passage has troubled commentators. A variant reading appears twice in the Hou Han shu (Ch'en 1968:64), and D. C. Lau, in his translation of the Analects,

has emended the text in accordance with it (1979: 74; see also Miyazaki 1974:92­93). I do not think that the emendation is called for, both because it does not affect

what seems to be the troubling part of the passage, the second phrase, and because I think the passage makes good sense as it stands.

45. "He who rectifies his person, what difficulty can government present to him?" (A:13.13).

46. See also A:5.21, 7.11, 14.1, 14.3, 15.7.

47. The division of Confucius' disciples into two distinct generations was first proposed by Ts'ui Shu, and is explored in detail by Ch'ien Mu (1956:81­83). If the

Shih­chi dating for the disciples is accepted, there is a rather clear division in terms of age, the senior disciples (excluding Tzu­lu, who was far senior to all) being ten

to fifteen years older than the junior disciples.

48. A complete list of Analects entries noting disciples holding some appointive office reads like this: Tzu­lu: 11.22, 11.23, 16.1; Jan Ch'iu: 3.6, 6.4, 11.17, 11.22,

13.14, 16.1; Tzu­yu: 6.14, 17.3; Tzu­hsia: 13.17; Chung­kung: 13.2; Yuan Ssu: 6.5; Tzu­kao: 11.23 (cf. TC, Ai 15); Tzu­hua: 6.4.

49. See the Tzu­chang chapter of the Analects. On the preference of the junior disciples for nonpolitical studies, A:11.3 characterizes ten disciples by categories:

virtue in action, skill in speech, skill in politics, skill

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in the study of style (wen). Only the two disciples listed in the last category belong to the junior generation.

50. The Tso­chuan indicates that Jan Ch'iu continued to serve the Chi family (Ai 23:30.47). Tzu­kao and Meng Wu­po are mentioned in ritual roles (Ai 17:30.39).

The senior disciple Tzu­kung, who during Confucius' lifetime seems to have been employed as a diplomatist and ritualist in Lu (Ai 7:29.23­24; Ai 12:29.78; Ai

15:30.16) might have continued to be associated with court activities after Confucius' death (A:19.23). (Note the tale of Tzu­kung's diplomatic skill variously reported

in SC:67.2197­2201; MT:9.21b­22a; HFT:19.2). Tzu­kung is also said to have been the teacher of T'ien Tzu­fang, who may have carried out diplomatic missions for

the ruler of Weia (Ch'ien 1956:129). Among the remaining disciples, none apparently pursued political careers, although one of Tseng Shen's pupils was a judge on

the estate of a warlord family in Lu (A:19.19).

51. While neither the Shih­chi nor the Chan­kuo ts'e can be considered fully reliable, their information is at least presented in a historical framework that allows us to

make certain tests of consistency, and that provides important context for judging the historical value of a statement. Certainly in the case of the Shih­chi we can rely

on the outline of the chronicle and on the historiographical motives of the author. Other early "free" texts may contain reliable historical material, but the motives of the

authors are generally polemical, and assessing the historicity of anecdotes and other statements that appear in them is virtually impossible. The portrait of Ruism in

politics that is presented here is mainly based on a survey of the Chan­kuo ts'e, Mencius, Hsun Tzu, and those sections of the Shih­chi that deal directly with

Warring States history. Despite the limited base for the portrait, the evidence of the histories is so strikingly negative with regard to Ruist political involvement that it

seems unlikely that our conclusions could be far off the mark—particularly if we allow that a mid­Han work such as the Shih­chi would seem more likely to

exaggerate early Ruist political activity than to overlook it.

52. In addition to the information cited above concerning the disciples, the following represents the record of Ruism in politics during the Warring States period.

(1) The Mencius tells us that at one time the state of Lu contemplated giving control of administration to an erstwhile pupil of Mencius (M: 6B. 13). There is no

record that this was ever done, however. In M:1B. 16 we learn that the pupil, Yueh­cheng Tzu did have some influence in Lu, but that this influence was not

sufficient to gain Mencius an audience with the Duke (he is not mentioned in the Shih­chi). A more pertinent

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issue is whether Yueh­cheng Tzu was a disciple. Apparently, judging by M:4A.23­24 and 6B.13, Yueh­cheng Tzu did not travel with Mencius. Although Yueh­

cheng Tzu is named by honorific in the text, this does not conclusively indicate that he was a Ruist Master in later years (in M:6B.8, the general Shen Ku­li is

referred to by the honorific Shen Tzu, and other possible examples of non­Ru are named in this way). Other evidence suggests that Yueh­cheng Tzu's relation to

Mencius may have involved more courtesy than reverence.

There was a Ruist Master surnamed Yueh­cheng, but Liang Ch'i­ch'ao and Ch'en Ch'i­yu are probably correct in identifying him as Tseng Shen's pupil Yueh­

cheng Tzu­ch'un (HFTCS:1083n10). According to the Li­chi, Yueh­cheng Tzu­ch'un did become the Master of a study group (Chi­yi:14.12b); we have no such

information about Mencius' pupil. Possibly, the Yueh­cheng Tzu of the Mencius was a descendant of Tseng Shen's pupil. "Yueh­cheng," which originally denoted

the office of Music Master, seems to have been a surname of the state of Lu (see M:5B.3 for another Yueh­cheng of Lu). The clan name, with its musical

associations, in itself suggests a possible connection with Ruist interests. If we hypothesize that the Yueh­cheng Tzu of the Mencius studied with Mencius as a

temporary pupil, with his family, by virtue of longstanding Ruist connections, arranging the employment of Mencius as his tutor, rather than as a disciple who

traveled with Mencius and identified himself as a Ru, this would seem to match the portrait of the man visible in the Mencius: a man with Ruist antecedents and

political ambitions.

(2) The Mencius also tells us that during the reign of Duke Mu of Lu (r.c. 415­383 B.C.) Ruists occupied positions in government (M:6B.6). An echo of the story

appears in the Shih­chi (119.3101­2), but its context is anecdotal, and its historical value is questionable.

(3) A famous example of greater reliability is the case of the philosopher Hsun Tzu, who was appointed a magistrate in the town of Lan­ling in Lu by the warlord

prime minister of the state of Ch'u, which had just conquered Lu (SC:74.2348, 78.2395). The significance of the appointment is unclear, however. By some

reckonings, at the time of the appointment (255 B.C) Hsun Tzu was over eighty years old, and the post may have merely been a formal recognition of his

intellectual eminence. In any event, we find no record of Hsun Tzu seeking a political position, and the circumstances of Ch'u's conquest might have made this one

difficult to decline. (These issues are discussed further in chapter VI.) Another version of this incident holds that soon after being appointed to govern Lan­ling,

Hsun Tzu was dismissed and went to the state of Chao, where he was made a high minister (ch'ingb),

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which post he soon resigned in order to return to his post in Lan­ling (CKT:5.38b­40a). The tale probably arises out of the fact that Hsun Tzu's style name was

Ch'ing, and he was from Chao. The historicity of this tale was questioned as early as the mid­Ch'ing by Wang Chung, and his scepticism is endorsed by Ch'ien Mu

(1956:432). Knoblock, however, accepts the episode (1982­83:41).

(4) After Hsun Tzu's time, the only record of a Ruist holding a government post is a brief statement in the Shih­chi that a descendant of Confucius, known as Tzu­

shen or Tzu­shun, held high office in the state of Weia (SC:47.1947). However, the records of that state, as found in the Shih­chi, do not mention him (Ch'ien

1956:490). Possibly the post was a ritualist position (see note 105).

This handful of examples—plus the special case of Mencius, which is discussed elsewhere—represents virtually the entire roster of men who were unquestionably

Ruists and who held administrative positions in government during the Warring States period, based on our best sources. In addition to these examples, however

there are a number of other instances where men who might have been Ru appear in political positions.

(5) Among these are a group of shadowy figures, about whom we know next to nothing, who appear briefly in the Shih­chi. These men speak or act like Ru, but

they are not identified as such, and they appear to be more like legendary characters or pure literary devices than genuine historical figures. These include Kan

Lung and Tu Chih (SC:5.203, 68.2229), Chao Liang (68.2233­35), and Niu Hsu (43.1797), who is said to have been a court tutor in Chao. Few of these figures

are definitely identifiable as Ru, but they are made to mouth ideas consistent with Ruism, and their role in the text may reflect the fact that there were frequently

Ruist retainers at feudal courts who were granted audiences or were allowed to advise their rulers occasionally, on the basis of their reputations as wise men.

Apart from these examples, we encounter a few certifiably historical figures who are classified as Ruists in some sources, but who possibly or probably were not.

(6) Of these, perhaps the most elusive is Yü Ch'ing, whose lost book Yü­shih ch'un­ch'iu is listed among Ruist works by the Yi­wen chih (HS:30.1726). Yü

Ch'ing was, for a time, Prime Minister of Chao, but was he a Ru? The evidence is very slim. His Shih­chi biography mentions no Ruist connections; it calls him a

"wandering persuader" (yu­shui chih shih). The record of his tenure in Chao indicates that he engaged in amoral intrigue such as any other politician of his day.

But he does stand out because he reportedly resigned his post for ethical

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reasons, to protest the unjust persecution of a friend by the Chao ruler, who was bending to pressure from Ch'in. As for the classification of his book as Ruist in

the Han­shu, its reliability is undermined by the inclusion of a number of manifestly non­Ruist books in the same category (Eno 1984:212). Probably any text titled

a "ch'un­ch'iu" was so classified, regardless of content.

(7) We must mention, finally, the surprising description of Li K'o and Wu Ch'i as Ruists. Both men were renowned as militarist thinkers, and their fame rested

solidly on their skills in warfare and diplomatic intrigue. However, evidence reports that both studied under Ruist Masters for a time, and some sources classify

them as Ruists. Li K'o is listed as a student of Tzu­hsia (Ch'ien 1956:132), but the reliability of the record is cast in doubt by the fact that Mo Tzu's disciple Ch'in

Kuli is also so listed (SC: 121.3116). Li K'o and Tzu­hsia both served at the court of Marquis Wen of Weia, and the belief that Li was a student of Tzu­hsia may

have arisen from no more than this coincidence. Wu Ch'i is said to have studied with Tseng Tzu for a time (SC:65.2165), and the Pieh­lu listed him as a

transmitter of the Tso­chuan (Ch'ien 1956:156). But if either of these men did, in fact, study under Ruist Masters, in achieving political prominence it seems they

must have abandoned every principle of Ruist doctrine, and relied on skills utterly divorced from their Ruist studies. Li K'o was known for his ability to plan

strategic warfare on the basis of topographical advantage: "Weia employed Li K'o, who could exhaust the advantages of topography to strengthen his lord.

Henceforward, all competed in war, valuing cunning and force and despising humane righteousness . . ." (SC:30.1442; cf. 74.2349, 129.3258). (However, see

also SC:44.1840, where Li K'o is portrayed in a way consistent with Ruist values.) Wu Ch'i's skill lay in battle tactics: "Marquis Wen asked Li K'o, 'What sort of

a man is Wu Ch'i?' 'Greedy and lustful,' replied Li K'o. 'But in disposing troops, [none] can surpass him'" (SC:65.2166). If these two men had Ruist backgrounds,

they must be considered exceptions that prove the rule, for if they represent Ru who followed their political ambitions to achieve power and fame, then they also

show that only a complete rejection of their Ruist personas could allow them to follow this course.

53. One writer who seems to have noted the early Ruist detachment from politics after Confucius is H. G. Creel (1949:176). It is interesting to speculate on how this

politically withdrawn period of Ruism came to an end. My own view is that Ruism was, not surprisingly, politicized by the persecution it suffered under the Ch'in.

During the revolt of Ch'en She, Ruists participated as partisans of the insurgent (SC: 121.3116).

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Subsequently, they appear to have sided actively with Hsiang Yü, who possessed a fief in the Ruist homeland of Lu. The language of the Shih­chi seems to imply

that the Ru were at least partially responsible for the state of Lu being the last part of the Empire to surrender to Liu Pang (SC:7.337­38, 121.3117). If this were

true, we would expect the Ru to have been persona non grata during the early Han, and indeed, it was several decades before the Ru attained any significant

influence at the Han court.

54. The scale of such patronage could be impressive. After resigning his post as a senior advisor in Ch'i, Mencius was offered an honorarium sufficient to support him

and all of his disciples, simply for remaining within the borders of Ch'i to serve as a moral exemplar for the people (M:2B.10). He declined.

55. Even the "agriculturist" Hsu Hsing, a man of no discernable political wisdom, was granted an audience and a stipend in T'eng (M:3A.4). For a brief survey of the

scope of this type of patronage, see Yang 1980:401­3.

56. On the Marquis' policy of honoring worthies (which was probably intended to legitimize his rule—he was a usurper), see Ch'ien 1956:129­34.

57. Mencius traveled to Ch'i during the reign of King Hsuan, a noted patron of worthies (SC:46.1895). The inference that T'eng was following a similar policy is

suggested by the account of Hsu Hsing (M:3A4). As for Sung, in about 328 B.C., the ruler of Sung took the title "King." Judging from M:3B.5, Mencius traveled to

Sung at about this time, probably in the expectation that the ruler would try to legitimize his title by proclaiming an ethical policy of honoring worthies (see Ch'ien

1956:345; but see also Lau 1970:211 for a different view).

58. Confirmation of the nonpolitical character of Ru at court can also be found in the Chuang Tzu, which classifies wise men into six groups, one being wise ministers

of court, and an entirely separate one being those who "speak of righteousness, devotion, and faithfulness, respect, prudence, and courtesy, and devote themselves

completely to self­cultivation" (K'o­yi: 15.1­4).

59. Warlords, too, could enhance their stature and defuse objections to their usurpations of feudal prerogative by patronizing worthies. During the third century B. C.,

the great warlords of Ch'i, Chao, Weia, and Ch'u vied to patronize wise men and knights­errant, even as they pursued ruthless policies of expansion (see Yang

1980:403). The Shih­chi summarizes one year's achievements by Ch'u's great warlord Prime Minister Lord Ch'un­shen by noting: "On behalf of Ch'u he attacked the

North and extinguished the state of Lu, and he appointed [Hsun Tzu] magistrate of Lan­ling" (SC:78.2395).

60. We should be aware that in many instances, the presence of Ruist­

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style rhetoric in a text might reflect not the substance of an historical speech, but the literary or ideological interests of the author of the text. In the case of the

Chan­kuo ts'e, the authors cannot be suspected of Ruist loyalties (but see Ch'ien 1956:452). However, the nature of the text skews its historical value and may

account for the occasional intrusion of Ruist rhetoric. As James Crump has demonstrated, the basic attitude of the text was less historical than literary; it was a

compendium of rhetorical techniques, which could serve as a handbook for "persuaders" of rulers and warlords (1964). While its authors were not themselves

Ruists, the text aptly shows that they were interested in the art of manipulating Ruist rhetoric, just as they were interested in manipulating Taoist and Legalist

rhetoric. Hence, Ruist arguments are likely to appear in contexts where they clearly do not belong (e.g., the courtly Ruist debate over the adoption of barbarian

dress in Chao [CKT:6.16b­23b]).

As for the Shih­chi, we should bear in mind that Ssu­ma Ch'ien was educated as a Ru, studying at least briefly under Tung Chung­shu (SC: 130.3297). Although

he might have been attracted to Taoist ideas, the overall outlook of his history is clearly Ruist, and any Thucydidean attempts to provide the gist of missing

speeches might have been influenced by this. In addition, he apparently relied heavily on forms of the Tso­chuan and Chan­kuo ts'e, and thus perpetuated the

skewed histories of those texts, with their transformations of Ruist ideas into historical incident. (On the bias of the Tso­chuan, see appendix B, note 4.)

61. Although the text probably fabricates the Ruist arguments (which are formulated in a cynical fashion), it is likely that only Ruist arguments could have been

employed to persuade a king to cede his throne in this way.

62. The role of Chung­shan has become known through inscriptions on bronze vessels recently excavated in Hopei (WW 1979:1.1­31). The phrases quoted here are

from the Chung­shan fang­hu. The rhetoric of the inscriptions, forged soon after the civil war in Yen, contains a great many Ruist ideas. But, in addition to damning

the decadence of Yen, the text does not fail to emphasize that the value of Chung­shan's invasion lay also in the expansion of the state's narrow borders. The Chan­

kuo ts'e tells us that at about the time these vessels were cast, Chung­shan was pursuing a policy of honoring worthies (CKT: 10.17b18a), and this is borne out by the

inscriptions, which duly celebrate this policy. It is not unlikely that Ruist retainers were available to compose these inscriptions (as well, perhaps, as other

proclamations) legitimizing the conduct of the government. Whether the rulers of

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Chung­shan actually sympathized with these Ruist sentiments is a moot point (see Li 1979:40).

63. Judging from the text of the Mencius, a high minister of Ch'i paid an "unofficial" private visit to Mencius and in the course of it asked him whether he thought that

the conduct of Yen was deplorable and worthy of punishment. Mencius replied that it was. Ch'i subsequently attacked Yen, and the fact that the rulers of Ch'i used

Mencius' words to justify their actions is suggested by the Chan­kuo ts'e account and also by the Mencius' depiction of someone asking Mencius, "Is it true that you

urged that Ch'i attack Yen?" (M:2B.8). Mencius makes clear that he had not understood the consequences that his remark would have.

64. The most prominent of these militarists were Yueh Yi and Chü Hsin. The philosopher Tsou Yen was said to be among those who responded to Yen's call and

received high honors, but he was apparently granted no role in government (SC:34.1558,80.2427­28; but see Ch'ien 1956:439 on Tsou Yen).

65. Other examples of the insincere manipulation of Ruist rhetoric include the use of such rhetoric by the pragmatic persuader Su Ch'in to deceive a ruler whom he

wished secretly to undermine (SC:69.2265).

66. The Analects tells us that Tzu­chang studied with Confucius with such a goal in mind (A:2.18). No evidence exists that he ever received political appointment,

which might indicate Confucius' success in reorienting his ambition. It is also possible that A:2.18 refers not to seeking political posts but to seeking other types of

employment, such as court ritualist.

67. Note the clear sense of being freed from an onerous burden. A:15.32 might be interpreted as having a similar message: "The chün­tzu aims at the Way, not at

food for his table. In farming, there is a starvation; in study, there is a reward. The chün­tzu worries about the Way, not about poverty." This reading, which takes

"neia" (starvation) and ''lu" (emolument) as figurative, was suggested to me by William Ts'ai.

68. Compare A:5.6.

69. This is the disciple Tsai Wo. The Analects does not mention Tsai Wo as holding any posts, but it nearly always portrays him in an unflattering light (A:3.21, 5.10,

6.26, 17.19). The Shih­chi tells us: "Tsai Wo was a noble of [Ch'i]. He joined T'ien Ch'ang in the latter's revolt, resulting in the execution of his entire clan. Confucius

was ashamed of him" (67.2195). If this were true, it might account for the negative portrait encountered in the Analects. (See Ch'ien 1956:54­8, where an attempt is

made to restore to Tsai Wo his good name.)

70. Mencius' willingness to meet with the Duke of Lu (M:lB.16) seems to have been an exception, but he might have had to overcome his scru­

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ples when his erstwhile student Yueh­cheng Tzu managed to make arrangements for the Duke to visit Mencius. When, after all, the plan falls through and the Duke

does not arrive, Mencius does not seem much disturbed.

71. I feel that the text of the Mencius makes this clear. Commentators are divided on the question of Mencius' actual responsibilities in Ch'i (Ch'ien 1956:236­37).

72. Other passages that indicate Mencius' negative attitude towards political involvement include M:4A. 18, 7A8, 7A.9.

73. The significance of the structure of the Hsueh erh chapter was first noted by Takeuchi (1939:90).

74. "Kung Meng Tzu came to see Mo Tzu wearing a ceremonial patterned hat and waist tablet, in Ru­clothes. . . . [He said,] 'The chün­tzu must speak and dress in

ancient fashion before he can be jen' " (MT, Kung Meng: 12.9a­b). The Chuang Tzu refers to the prevalence of Ru­clothes in Lu and provides a description of

them (CT:21.38­44). A passage in the Li­chi denies that Ru wore special clothes, an implicit indication that they did (Ju­hsing:19.3b4a).

75. Note that the Fei Ju passage requires emendation (MTCK:9.33). A:7.18 indicates that the use of court dialect may have been confined to study sessions and ritual

occasions.

76. On the question of whether Confucius was the first to be called a Ru, and on the origins of the term, see appendix B.

77. Examples include A:5.4, 5.9, 6.10, 7.24, 11.15, and 11.21, the last of which is particularly poignant. In it, Confucius' favorite disciple, Yen Yuan, whose early

death was the bitterest moment of Confucius' life, catches up to the group after having fallen behind during a time of peril. "I took you for dead," says Confucius.

"While you are alive," replies Yen Yuan, ''how would I dare to die?" Of course, moral meanings might be and were read out of every Analects passage, but it seems

to me that the story was passed on and included in the text in order to make future disciples weep.

78. Confucius' son predeceased Tzu­lu by about three years according to Ch'ien Mu's dating (1956:615). We may wonder whether Tzu­lu was here taking over the

responsibilities of a deceased or a living son.

79. Passages such as this seem provocative when cast against the background of the Ruist interest in filiality. Commitment to the Ruist master and study group might

not always have been consistent with commitment to parents, particularly if disciples lived and traveled with their Masters (a fact noted in the Yen­t'ieh lun [5.2a]).

For evidence that the Ruist stress on filiality may have been a response to an initial perception of the sect as heretically unfilial, see Eno 1984:222n93.

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80. The Tzu­chang chapter of the Analects presents portraits of the disciples as Masters of their own study groups.

81. Disciples such as Wan Chang and Kung­sun Ch'ou were among those who appear to have traveled with Mencius extensively. If one accepts Kanaya Osamu's

thesis that the second book of the Mencius is a roughly chronological account authored by Kung­sun Ch'ou (1950­51:24), then according to Ch'ien Mu's chronology

(1956:314­17), Kung­sun Ch'ou would have been with Mencius through the entire course of his travels. (On Kung­sun Ch'ou, see Eno 1984:363n11.)

82. On the identification of Kao Tzu as a Ru, see chapter V, note 53.

83. We know very little about Hsun Tzu's study group. The Hsun Tzu is generally written in an impersonal style and might have been composed by several authors

over a period of decades (see Kanaya 1951). Virtually none of Hsun Tzu's disciples appear in the text. But portions of the text offer clues about the life of the Ruist

group in Hsun Tzu's time. These chapters, Ch'eng­hsiang and Fu, may be records of Ruist group chants and games, and they seem to offer a glimpse of a cohesive,

dedicated, and socially alienated order (they are dicussed further in chapter VI).

84. See the Fei shih­erh tzu chapter and the attacks on Mencius in Hsing o.

85. See Hu 1919:120 for a schematic classification of these factions.

86. I translate "hsueh" as "study" rather than as "learn" or "learning" because I do not believe that the sense of completed action that is conveyed by "learn'' is

appropriate. "Hsueh" generally denotes the process rather than the result of learning (A:1.7 would be an exception). Although the word "study" has its own problems,

chiefly its connotation of book learning, it is frequently used in broader senses close to those in the Ruist texts, as in "studying dance." (For contrary views, see Lau

1979:44 and Hall and Ames 1987:434; 339n12.)

87. The various accounts of Western Chou education are discussed and compared in Ch'en P'an's excellent survey (1974).

88. The only formal institution for education that we know definitely existed during the early Chou was the archery training hall (Creel 1970:407). The hall may also

have been where warriors were trained to dance, as is suggested by the K'uang yu inscription, "King Yi had the Hsiang dance performed at the archery hall" (Ta­

hsi:3.8b). The Kung­yang chuan also mentions a pavilion that was almost certainly the archery hall (TCHC: 11.48­9) as being used to store musical instruments

(Kung­yang chuan Hsuan 16:16.11). On varieties of other possible early institutions, see Eno 1984:224n101.

89. A:9.2 indicates that these studies were not evaluated as highly as others. Creel has argued from this that Confucius did not teach them (1949:82).

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90. The Yi­li includes an account of the village archery match, which in itself might indicate that Ruists studied archery as a ritual mode, if we view the text as a ritual

handbook, studied in class. Note also that archery is sometimes used as a simile in ethical discussions (e.g., M:7A.41), whereas martial arts like swordsmanship, which

Ru seem not to have studied, are not.

91. Of the three citations of "Documents" in the Analects (excluding the Yao yueh chapter, which is undoubtedly a late addition to the text), one, A:2.21, cites a

passage that does not appear in any part of the "New Text" (genuine) Documents, nor is it cited in any other pre­Ch'in text. Its invocation (shu yun) might not refer to

the Documents we know. In the case of A:8.20, the passage is probably an insertion from the fourth century B.C. (see Eno 1984:294­95). This would leave A:14.40

as the sole citation of the Documents that might date from the earliest days of Ruism.

92. A discussion of the rules of citation appears in TC, Hsiang 4:14.16­19.

93. It is only when one takes into account the ritual role of the Poetry in formal speech that A:13.5 makes sense: "Though one may be able to recite the three hundred

odes, if upon being given governmental responsibility one cannot convey his ideas [by means of them], or if when sent as emissary to distant lands one cannot [use

them] to respond on his own initiative, then though [one has studied] much, of what use is it?" Study of the Poetry by noble sons was probably widespread during the

late Chou (see, e.g., CKT:3.76b).

94. Ruist textual study early grew to include the Spring and Autumn Annals (M:7B.2; H:1.30, 34), and the Yi ching (e.g., H:27.39). On the latter, the Tso­chuan

shows an intense interest in the text, but it is not mentioned in the Mencius, and the single possible reference to it in the Analects (7.17) might not prove that it was

studied by the earliest Ruists (see Dubs 1928). In addition, Ruist texts refer to unnamed sources (chuan) and show thorough knowledge of the doctrines, and perhaps

the books, of contemporary thinkers (verbatim knowledge of contemporary texts is suggested in Riegel's analysis of M:2A.2 [1979:437­38]).

95. This is discussed in the context of a utopian vision of a fully ritualized society, where every individual's li­determined material environment cultivates the precise

virtues proper to his designated station.

96. But note also that li could be the beginnings as well as the end of study (A:19.12).

97. The Hsun Tzu satirizes Ru who are unable to bring off the delicate stylization of the ideal man (H:6.45­48). The intricate choreography of finely executed li is well

illustrated in A:10.1­4, which describes the behavior of the chün­tzu at court.

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98. See also A:15.42, where we see a music master come to visit the study group.

99. It might indicate that Confucius instructed court music masters about the proper occasions for performing certain pieces.

100. Two post­Ch'in sources mention this: the Mao commentary to Poetry: 91/1, and Wei Chao's commentary at KY, Lu­yü:5.15b. Confirmation in pre­Ch'in texts

appears at MT, Kung Meng:12.11a; TC, Hsiang 16:16.3. See also Ikeda 1955:75; Chen 1974:31.

101. On the translation of "fengª," see Eno 1984:226n114. The passage is probably a late addition to the text (see WSTK:454, 458; Kimura 1971:353). It may be

viewed as a commentary on A:5.8. In that passage, the first three of the disciples are characterized in terms of the personal goals set out in 11.24, and Confucius notes

in each case that whether they are jen is doubtful. If 11.24 was composed with the earlier passage in mind, the implication would be that Tseng Tien's answer

encapsulates jen.

102. A:7.7 indicates that a tuition gift, however small, was expected of disciples (but note that Cheng Hsuan offered a very different interpretation [Ch'eng 1965:388]).

Stress has traditionally been laid on the fact that the passage shows that Confucius was democratically willing to accept as tuition even the smallest class of ritual gift,

thus not excluding poor students. But the passage also suggests that he accepted tuition from this level "on up", and there may have been a tradition of "from each

according to his means." M:2B.10 implies that Masters supported their disciples, but the more general rule may have been one of sharing resources within the group.

103. The role of Ru as popular teachers is suggested by the Chou­li, which refers to them as "those who employ the Way to attract the people" (T'ien­kuan, T'ai­

tsai:1.15b­16a), and lists them along with "elders" and "teachers" (Ti­kuan, Ta ssu­t'u:3.17b).

104. Occasionally, feudal lords might even bestow unsolicited gifts on prominent Ru, as a way of demonstrating their own virtue (M:5B.6).

105. A number of Ru are seen occupying positions as "hsiang," a term that could denote a high political post, but that could also mean "master of ceremony" at a

ritual or diplomatic event. It is in this latter role that Ruists appear in the Tso­chuan (e.g., Confucius: Ting 10:28.21­24; Meng Wu­po: Ai 17:30.39).

106. Discussions appear in A:17.19; M:3A.2; H:19.79­91; and throughout early Ruist texts. For an important discussion of the three years mourning ritual, see Hu

1934:27­35.

107. The economic interest that Ruists had in promoting funerals is viciously satirized in the Mo Tzu's caricature of early Ruists, which is

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worth quoting at length:

[The Ru] lives in poverty... He turns his back on what is basic by refusing to work, and contents himself with laziness and arrogance. He has no means of keeping himself from

starving in times of shortage and freezing when it grows cold . . . In the summer he begs for grain, but once the harvest is in, he goes chasing after big funerals. All his children

follow him there, to eat and drink their fill. If he can manage a few of these, it will be enough to get by. . . . When a wealthy family requires a funeral he is delighted. "Here," he says

gleefully, "is the spring from which food and clothing flow!" (Fei Ju:9.17a­b).|

The Chuang Tzu includes a portrait that is even more unsavory, if that is possible. It pictures Ruist funeral experts piously robbing graves (CT:26.16­18). The

degree to which these caricatures are accurate is certainly questionable, but they do alert us to the popular views of the cult, and seem to show that the picture of

Ru as impoverished was widespread and surely had a basis in fact.

108. It is possible that not all Ruists were reconciled to the necessary compromises that social living entails. There are indications that some preferred to reject paths

of economic opportunity and withdraw into eremetic lifestyles. One of Confucius' disciples, Yuan Hsien (Ssu), is said to have done this (SC:67.2208), and the elusive

philosopher Lu Chung­lien, if he was, in fact, a Ru, may be another example (SC: 83.2460­69; CKT, Chao ts'e:4.52­54). In addition, certain parts of the Analects

suggest eremetic tendencies (e.g., the Wei Tzu chapter), and parts of the Hsun Tzu seem to have been written precisely to combat an eremetic branch of Ruism

(H:4.57­58, 5.40­41, 6.11­12).

Chapter III

1. Totalism is a nonstandard philosophical term that has been applied in various ways in connection with China. Robert Lifton has used the term in Erik Erikson's sense

to refer to "a tendency towards all­or­nothing emotional alignments" (1961:129). Lifton's use of the term is narrower than ours, but is probably compatable as one

aspect of Ruist totalism.

2. Compare H:21.41­42: "Sitting in one's room, one can see throughout the four seas; living in today, one can see the order of distant ages."

3. The phrase appears in several chapters: KT, Hsin­shu II: 13.5a; Pai­hsin: 13.7b; Nei­yeh:16.4a. For a discussion of these chapters as representative of a "Chi­

hsia school of materialism," see Fung 1962:274f. On their authorship, see the contrasting views in Hou 1957:397­99 and Fung 1962:168. The same phrase also

appears in a late chapter of the Chuang Tzu (CT:23.34­35).

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4. Metzger's description is appropriate for neo­Confucianism, with its great emphasis on theoretical coherence, but even in the neo­Confucian case extending the

notion of totalism to cover action might be warranted. As Metzger himself notes, for neo­Confucians the importance of thinking was tied to the quest for action

standards (1977:66). The explicit linkage of cognition and action as an enduring theme of Confucian (and post­Confucian) philosophy has been analyzed by Donald

Munro in his model of the clustering of knowing, feeling, and promptings to act in traditional Chinese concepts of mind (1977:26­37).

5. This narrow dogmatism can be greatly modified in texts such as the Chuang Tzu, where identification with the Tao can be attained through mastery of almost any

skill: swimming, butchering, or catching cicadas on a pole (but apparently not through ritual mastery). However, no intrinsic value is found in these activities or in

becoming skilled in them. Ultimately, despite a plurality of paths to the totalism, there is no pluralism of values in the Taoist world.

The closed portrait of human perfection entailed in practical totalism may bear upon the issues raised by Rosemont concerning the "openness" of Ruist ideal society

(1970­71). The fact that the guiding philosophy of the Ruist state would reject a pluralism of values might predispose it to development in a "closed" direction. This

issue is related to the nature of moral choice in Ruism, which, as Fingarette has noted, becomes a unitary issue of following or not following the Ruist Tao

(1972:chapter 2).

6. The use of the word "jen" varies in the Analects. It can be used in both a weak and a strong sense (paralleling the use of the word "chün­tzu"). Used in the weak

sense, it means little more than "goodness." Examples of jen used in the weak sense include A:12.22, 15.33 (for chün­tzu in the weak sense, see A:11.1, 14.6). In

discussing jen as the key to the Sagely totalism, we are excluding passages where it is used in this weak sense.

7. The mystery of the term may be related to the fact that, as far as we can tell, Confucius seems to have been the first historical figure to use the word as a major

ethical term. It is rarely encountered in pre­Confucian sources, and when we do find it, it does not seem to carry a great deal of weight. For a detailed discussion, see

Lin 1974­75. Lin arrives at a root gloss of "manly" for jen. (178­80). Note that the reconstructed Chou reading ( ) might have been cognate with ning (*nieng):

"glib," and the graphemics of this relationship would tend to enhance Lin's argument. (All phonetic reconstructions are based on GSR.) If this relation between "jen"

and "ning" were pursued, it might increase our understanding of Analects passages such as A:5.5.

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8. A:6.30 is a notable exception, but in that case, Confucius' response, which stresses that jen is far simpler than what his disciple suggests, might merely reverse the

direction of the problem of "jen" rather than solve it (compare A:7.30).

9. A few commentators do not agree that Confucius grants the quality of jen in this passage (see Ting 1949:3.3). I am grateful to Yan Shoucheng for alerting me to

this.

10. I have taken "lid" as a verb parallel to "ch'u," based on M:2A.7, 4A.11 (see Wang Ying­lin's commentary to A:4.1 in Ch'eng 1965:197). Jen and wisdom are

repeatedly linked in the Analects (A:4.2, 6.23, 9.29, 15.33). In most cases, they should not be taken as either independent or mutually exclusive, as, for example,

Waley's interpretation of A:6.23 (VI.21) suggests (1938:120, 239­40).

11. The comprehensiveness of jen is indicated in other passages, where it is prior to filiality (hsiao; A:1.2), devotion (chung;A:5.19, 13.19), purity (ch'ingª; A:5.19),

and vigilance (ching; A:13.19) among others (cf. A:17.5). There is a passage in the Analects where jen seems to be superseded by the term "Sage" (sheng; A:6.30).

Tsuda took this to mean that in a hierarchy of virtues, "Sageliness" was superior to jen (1946:135). However, A:6.30 is a paradoxical reply to a question about jen,

stressing the ease of achieving jen in contrast to the interlocutor's high­flown portrait. "Sheng" probably carried a special rhetorical force because it was a traditional

term for mythical Sages, whose stature it would be all but impious to aspire to surpass. These Sages, as past kings, not only came complete with all virtues but with

breathtaking political achievements already on record. They were both good and successful. The notion of jen addresses virtue, but not success (except perhaps in

A:14.17­18). It is not that the sheng­jen is better than the jen­jen, but that the former term carried different rhetorical overtones. On problems of rationalizing the

Analects' hierarchy of terms, see Hall and Ames 1987:185­88.

In a related matter, we might note that what was perhaps the primary pre­Confucian virtue, "te," also plays a role in the Analects. It is used as a noncontroversial

term denoting "high virtue," as distinguished from the provocative new term "jen," whose meaning was not fully delineated by traditional use. The two words have

roughly similar weight in the Analects, and they tend to obey a "law of avoidance" (they appear together only in A:7.6 and 14.4). They, too, should not be

compared according to their status in a hierarchy of virtue. They essentially belong to different terminological sets.

12. Literally: ". . . I would tap it at both ends and empty it." There seems to be a metaphor operating, but I cannot identify it.

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13. The Mencius contains a very eloquent passage that describes the teaching of the ineffable totalistic skill:

The chün­tzu deeply immerses [his student] in the Way: he wishes him to find it for himself. Once he has found it, he will learn to dwell in it at ease. Once he dwells in it at ease, he

will learn to draw deeply from it. Once he draws deeply from it, then as he takes it to himself he will encounter its source to his every left and right. Hence the chün­tzu wishes him

to find it for himself (M:4B.14).

Previous translations have taken the object of the chün­tzu's teaching to be himself, which runs counter to the grammar of the passage and, as Dobson noted,

renders the meaning very dubious (see Dobson 1963:148n31).

14. Tseng Shen was only about twenty­six when Confucius died (Ch'ien 1956:615­16), one of the youngest disciples. He probably would not have been so deeply

initiated as this passage suggests. It was probably composed by pupils of Tseng Shen (he is named by honorific), and if so, his remarks would represent his mature

interpretation of the "single thread." The passage might have been inserted in Book 4 after the book had already taken shape; it is the only interruption in the stylistic

homogeneity of the book (excepting the final entry, attributed to Tzu­yu and probably appended). An examination of the functions of the disciples in the Analects

suggests that Tseng Tzu and the subtle Tzu­kung are cast in competition as authoritative interpreters of Confucius' ideas.

15. See, for example, LYCY:82 and, more recently, Ch'ien 1963:129. This also seems to be the final position of Fingarette, who has made a detailed analysis of the

passage (1979a:397­98).

16. Loan instances are found between "chung" and "chungb" (H:25.33, 29.3­5). On the meaning of the latter word as "inner recesses of the mind" (a sense common

in the Tso­chuan), see Ikeda 1968:27, 30n8.

17. Only one passage in the Analects allows us to distinguish whether "chung" denoted loyalty to persons or to duty; all others permit the ambiguity. The passage is

A:5.19. It reads:

Tzu­chang asked, "The Grand Minister Tzu­wen was thrice appointed as Grand Minister and never displayed pleasure. He was thrice discharged and never displayed displeasure.

Invariably, he reported to the incoming minister the affairs of his term in office. What would you say of him?" "That he was chung," replied the Master.

"Chung" appears to signify a complete submergence of self­interest in scrupulous devotion to duty. The passage tends to confirm glosses of

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"chung" as "exhausting the mind" (SWCTKL: 10B.4658b, Tuan Yü­ts'ai's gloss) or "exhausting integrity (ch'ing)" (Huang K'an citing Wang Pi [Ch'eng

1965:232]).

Fingarette, in his analysis of A:4.15, stresses the notion of chung as loyalty to persons (1979a:389, 393). In places, however, he seems to equate this with loyalty

to responsibilities (390).

18. Note, however, that in texts such as the Tso­chuan, Hsun Tzu, Ta­hsueh, and Chung­yung, "shu" seems to mean something closer to "do not demand from

others what you are not yourself competent to do." The word "shu" does not appear in pre­Confucian sources. It appears only twice in the Analects (4.15, 15.24),

and much of both of these passages may be borrowed from other entries in the text (15.3, 5.12, 12.2). One cannot help but wonder whether Confucius himself ever

used the word.

19. The Shuo­wen gives the variant form (SWCTKL:100B.4672b). Note that because no instances of loans are found to confirm this etymological analysis of

"shu" (so far as I am aware), it must be considered speculative.

20. It is interesting to consider Cheng Hsuan's comment to the preface of the first ode of the Poetry: "'Chung' means to feel for another (shu) from the heart's core

(chunga)." (The gloss seems odd in context, and Cheng may have borrowed it.) Note that from our perspective, shu is, perhaps, more likely to have entailed a

process of projecting one's own needs rather than internalizing the needs of others. This is particularly so in light of a tendency in Chinese thought, both early and late,

to take as an a basic axiom the assumption that human needs and emotions are innate and universal. The result has been that Chinese thinkers have not stressed the

need to make allowances for important differences among individuals, and the parameters governing ethical prescripts to empathize have been narrow. I am grateful to

Donald Munro for bringing this to my attention.

21. I have supplied here an additional phrase from a parallel passage (H:5.46­47). In this latter passage, the dance metaphor is more completely drawn, but becomes

mixed with other metaphors. I have supplied the phrase for illustrative purposes; I do not mean to suggest that the text should be emended.

22. Waley objected to the interpretation of "k'o" as "conquer" (1938:162nl), but relevant passages in the Tso­chuan (Chao 10:22.26; Chao 12:22.54, to which

Waley alludes) indicate that the evidence does not support his gloss of "to be able" (although that is, of course, a common meaning of "k'o" in early texts).

23. See, for example, Tu 1968:33­34. Benjamin Schwartz's recent discussion of the relation of jen and li also reflects a commitment to rationalize

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the priority of jen over ritual (1985:80­82).

24. Lin Yü­sheng has made points similar to those I am making here (197475:193­96). Note that the chün­tzu will always act according to li after "throwing away his

books." However, he will have more leeway to act than others. As the Mencius states: "The great man will not always be true to his word or follow through to the

end: he cleaves to the right" (4B.11; see also the discussion of ch'üan in 4A.18). The Sage fully embodies li and, as such, becomes a creator of li in the manner of the

great Sages of the past.

25. Many ideas in this analysis owe a debt to Fingarette 1972: chapter 3.

26. Fingarette's claims have been strongly rejected by H. G. Creel (1979: 410­12) and Benjamin Schwartz (1985:78­80), but neither has offered sustained arguments

to disprove these claims or attempted to explain why the Analects is so reticent concerning the affective dimension of decision­making.

27. The doctrine associated with Plato is most explicit in Alcibiades 1: 129­30. Although the authorship of the text may be spurious, it is consistent with other

dialogues, such as the Phaedo.

28. For example, A:4.17; cf 12.4.

29. I am building on the Shuo­wen definition of "ssu" as grain and the use of the term to denote the private field in Poetry 277.

30. See A:9.22, where Yen Yuan is also described through the metaphor of ripening grain using the term "faª." The use of "faª" in the sense of grain ripening appears

in Poetry 277.

31. The fact that "hsingª" here denotes inspection rather than introspection is signaled by the absence of the modifier "inner" (nei). However, in the Hsun Tzu the

term nei hsing is used to refer to self­examination of one's public conduct (11.96). Compare A:1.4, which seems to bridge public and private: "I daily inspect (hsingª)

my person on three counts: Have I been conscientious when planning on behalf of others; have I been faithful in dealings with friends; have I practiced the teachings I

pass on?"

32. Several factors might have contributed to this sort of portrait of the self. The link of private and public realms is consistent with assumptions about the nature of

cognitive processes pervasive in Chinese philosophy. Donald Munro has demonstrated that cognitive acts were conceived in a manner that intrinsically entailed them

with action dispositions and that this manner of "clustering" mental processes that we demarcate rigidly is built into the meaning of the verb "to know" (Munro

1977:27­37). The differences between Chinese and Western views of self may also have been fostered by the radically different linguistic grammars that influenced the

structure of ontological assump­

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tions. Chad Hansen has argued that Classical Chinese lacks principles of noun individuation that are characteristic of Indo­European languages (1985:4142), and

this might have militated against the search for a core substance of individuation such as guided Western approaches. Hansen's claim that the Classical Chinese

equational sentence expresses a part­whole relationship rather than a substance­predicate one fits well with the notion of individual persons as intrinsically social.

33. On the atomic portrait of the individual, see Lukes 1973:73­78.

34. Munro's account describes the resonance between traditional Chinese views of human nature as social and those of Marx. For Marx's critique of the exclusion of

social dimensions from portraits of human nature, see Lukes 1973:75­76.

35. The Mo Tzu adopts a Hobbesian picture of precivilized society in the Shang­t'ung chapter (MT:3.1­2), and this could indicate a belief that social attributes are

not intrinsic. However, the Hsun Tzu's somewhat similar portrait (19.1­2) is reconciled with intrinsic social dispositions.

36. My suggestion that the notion of human nature as social may have been a pre­philosophical consensus is based on familiarity with Chou bronze inscriptions. The

unfailing linkage of individual to ancestors and progeny in those texts seems to me to reflect a fundamental vision of the individual as bound to the context of family and

clan. The persistence of the portrait of the individual as social, demonstrated in Munro's work, further suggests that the Ruist portrait was a "transmission" rather than

an "innovation."

37. On the theories of the Hsun Tzu, see chapter VI.

38. For glosses of jen as "person," see M:7B.16; CY:20. For "person" as "jen," see Shih­ming, Shih hsing­t'i:2.51.

39. Hsiao ching:1 indicates that filiality was viewed as the basis of all relational roles.

40. The Chuang Tzu speaks of the futility of discovering a true inner self through an inventory of subjective faculties (2.16­18). This indicates that notions comparable

to Western portraits of the self were not alien to contemporary ways of thought. That the Chuang Tzu was sceptical that an inner self could be found in this way does

not, of course, indicate that the text subscribed to the view of man as innately social. The Taoist schools dissented from the mainstream, and this probably is as true for

hsien­Taoists (to use Creel's term) as for the authors of the Chuang Tzu and the Tao te ching.

41. Donald Munro, suggests a contrast between neo­Confucian views of the self and an Augustinian model. Munro notes that for Augustine, the pivotal axis on which

selfhood revolves is a vertical link between the individual soul and God: the self of the Confessions is one increas­

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ingly alienated from its social surroundings in an inner search for the link to God. For Chu Hsi, the axis is horizontal: the search for the self is carried out through

alert social practice—it is through links with other humans that one discerns, and then shapes one's true nature (1988:105­6). In this respect, Chu Hsi is faithful to

the early Ruist approach. The influence of Augustinian self­scrutiny in later Christian views of the individual is noted in Lukes 1973:94­98.

42. Hence, Mencius' remark that those who allow their innate moral qualities to be submerged in other elements of their natural endowment seem no different from

animals (M:6A.8 cf. 4B.19).

43. On these dimensions in Western portraits of the individual, see Lukes 1973:67­77.

44. In M:5B.1 we are presented with a variety of Sages, each with his own personality, from the intolerantly upright Po Yi, to the altruistic Yi Yin, to the affable Liu

Hsia­hui. However, the case for individuality is somewhat vitiated by the latter portion of the passage, which exalts Confucius far beyond any of these men. The

passage seems cognate with A:18.8.

45. One might argue that by omitting individual personality from discussions of the individual, Ruists in fact shielded idiosyncratic thought and behavior from the

negative implications of their ritualist doctrines. While self­regarding dispositions were always subject to attack, idiosyncrasy underwent a benign neglect that left

Ruism in a position to absorb aspects of Taoism in conceiving well­rounded models of the chün­tzu, particularly from the T'ang period on, models that could sanction

the influence of a Li Po on a Tu Fu, or the eccentricities of a Su Tung­p'o.

According to the theory of skill systems outlined in the introduction, what we refer to by the term ''personality" might correspond closely to the individual's

repertoire of skills. Ruism's commitment to a monolithic set of ritual skills tends, in theory, to imply a convergence of personalities among Ruist Masters. But once

again, theory and experience diverge. Our notion of skill systems is a descriptive tool and encompasses all aspects of personal skill, not merely skills acquired

through formal training. Our model tends to predict that the members of the Ruist community striving for Sagehood through li would reflect the sort of personality

convergence that characterizes any professional cohort when viewed from the outside. Viewed from within, variety of personality appears as an obvious fact.

Chapter IV

1. In preparing translations and commentary interpretations of the Analects, I have taken the LYYT text as standard, and I have relied on Ch'en

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1968 for information on textual variants. Passage citations conform to LYYT numbers. For traditional commentaries, I have relied heavily upon Ch'eng 1965,

which includes a broad range of materials with pre­Sung interpretations well represented. I have also referred to the Lun­yü cheng­yi [LYCY], a nineteenth­

century commentary by Liu Pao­nan. I have consulted and benefited from the following English and Japanese translations: Legge 1894; Waley 1938; Chan 1963

(partial); Kaizuka 1973; Miyazaki 1974; Lau 1979. All translations appearing in the chapter are my own.

2. The simplest theory of the origins of the Analects, to which almost all scholars subscribe in one form or another, is stated in the Yi­wen chih chapter of the Han

shu: "The Lun­yü [Analects] contains the teachings that Confucius spoke in responding to disciples and contemporaries, and the lessons learned from their Master

that the disciples spoke to one another. Each disciple of the time made his own record. After their Master's death, his followers collectively edited and collated these;

hence, they are called the 'collated teachings' (lun­yü)" (HS:1717). In fact, we possess no testimony concerning the composition of the Analects predating the first

century A.D., the Yi­wen chih and the Cheng­shuo chapter of Wang Ch'ung's Lun­heng being our earliest sources on this matter. Neither text is able to report

specifics of compilation or transmission of the text prior to the early Han.

The Lun­heng tells us that during the early Han, until the reign of Wu­ti (140­87 B.C.), no copies of the text were generally known due to the great Ch'in book

burnings. (The Yi­wen chih does not report this, but its testimony may be consistent with Wang Ch'ung's report [Kimura 1971:165].) Possibly no text known as

the "Lun­yü" existed during the pre­Ch'in period, which could indicate that the final editorial stages occurred as late as the Ch'in or early Han. (D. C. Lau believes

that an explicit citation from the "Lun­yü" in the Fang­chi chapter of the Li­chi proves that the text existed in its current form prior to the Ch'in [1979:220].

However, the date of the Fang­chi chapter is uncertain and is by no means necessarily pre­Han [see Ito * 1969:30­35, also Tsuda 1946:47­54]. The fact that the

name "Lun­yü" is mentioned in no other pre­Ch'in work is good evidence that the name, at least, was a Han invention.)

Very powerful evidence supporting the notion of a late editing date is provided by the Hsun Tzu. At least six passages in that text appear to be near verbatim

citations of the Analects (compare: H:1.6, A:15.31; H:1.32, A:14.24; H:8.96, A:2.17; H:9.68, A:12.11; H:27.9, A:17.9; H:27.122, A:13.25), yet none of these is

attributed to Confucius or to any text (note, however, that H:1.6 appears in the TTLC version attributed to

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Confucius [7.6]). These statements are all presented as if original to Hsun Tzu. Furthermore, none of the many statements attributed to Confucius in the Hsun Tzu

appears in the current text of the Analects (although there is thematic overlap, e.g., H:28.31, A:9.19). Hsun Tzu was famous for his erudition in Ruist texts

(according to Liu Hsiang's Sun Ch'ing hsin­shu hsu­lu [HTYT:110­12]). He also spent many years at the Chi­hsia Academy in Ch'i, the center for scholastic

learning during the third century B.C. It seems inconceivable that the text of the Analects we possess today could have existed in its current form at that time,

given the evidence of the Hsun Tzu.

For information about the vicissitudes of the text during the Han, see the brief summary in Lau 1979 (220­22) or the more detailed accounts in Takeuchi 1939

(72­86) and Tsuda 1946 (83­101).

3. Arguments from his Lun­yü yü­shuo appear in WSTK (454­59).

4. The most detailed of those I know are Takeuchi 1939; Tsuda 1946; Kimura 1971. These three studies rely upon different fundamental assumptions and parameters

of analysis, and they differ significantly in their conclusions. Takeuchi attempted to reconstruct the composition process by analyzing the current text in light of the types

of variant texts reported by Wang Ch'ung to have been extant during the early Han. His model relies heavily upon the notion that the individual books of the Analects

were coherent and independent units from very early on. Tsuda's analysis stresses the need to challenge assumptions that the editing process was largely completed

during the early stages of the text's development. He cites the evidence of unattributed Analects passages in late texts to support his view that the organization of

entries into books was a late development. For Tsuda, the structure of the text as we have it today offers only minimal clues to the provenance of individual entries.

Kimura attempts to tread something of a middle path. Faced with Tsuda's findings, but lacking his sceptical outlook, Kimura tries to solve the problem by stressing the

importance of "linked" entries: contiguous entries within a single book that share a single principle of organization. Tending to assign to passages the earliest date of

origin he deems possible, Kimura arrives at a detailed schematic model of the dating and geographical or factional classification of the nuclear linked groups. My own

view falls between those of Kimura and Takeuchi. I believe that Kimura is correct in considering linked groups as the nuclear literary unit of the text (although I would

identify many specific groups differently from Kimura). However, I have come to feel that more than one­half the books constitute coherent arrangements of these

linked groups in such a way that we should be wary of attributing groups of passages within a single book

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to diverse factional origins, a view more in tune with Takeuchi. Tsuda's counsel of despair is best employed as a cautionary device rather than as a methodological

priciple.

5. Even the most credulous of interpreters must follow the Yi­wen chih in taking the compilation of the text to have begun after Confucius' death, and most

commentators would agree that an analysis of terms of appelation in the text indicates that full­scale editorial work was most likely initiated no earlier than the second

generation of disciples (A:14.1 providing, perhaps, the most prominent challenge to this principle). Thus, even a traditional approach to the text leaves a considerable

gap between Confucius and his editors, which creates problems for those who wish to discover Confucius' ideas through a detailed analysis of precise phraseology.

6. Where relevant, analyses of the dating of individual passages will appear in the course of our discussion. However, in order to alert the reader to implicit biases in

my presentation, I will state briefly my current approach to dating Analects entries.

Following Takeuchi and most other interpreters, I see the division of the text into books as providing significant clues to discovering relative dates of composition

and factional origin. I take Books 3­7 to have been joined at a relatively early date; they are on the whole stylistically and philosophically compatible, and,

together, they contain no reduplicated material. They include, however, passages that I believe were inserted or appended after the books were joined (e.g., 5.13­

14; 6.29­30). I am inclined to view portions of Book 8 (2,8­17) as belonging to this group of books, perhaps as a brief, final book on the theme of ritual study.

(For an analysis of the tripartite structure of Book 8 and its significance, see Eno 1984:294n53.) Because Books 5­7 contain many idiosyncratic portraits of

disciples and other contemporaries of Confucius, it seems likely that this "core" text (Books 3­8) incorporates some of the oldest material in the Analects. None of

the material from these books appears unattributed in the Hsun Tzu, which may also point to an early date (4.1 and 7.34 appear, attributed to Confucius, in the

Mencius [2A.7, 2A.2]).

The Analects is usually considered as possessing two "halves," Books 1­10 and 11­20. If Books 3­8 form a core in the "upper half," Books 11­15 seem to form

a somewhat more loosely organized core in the "lower half." They may also have been joined at an early date, although the presence of some partially reduplicated

material (compare 12.2, 15.24; 14.30, 15.19) may indicate that portions were developed independently. Material from most of these books appears in the

Mencius, and also in the Hsun Tzu, where it is unattributed, indicating perhaps a late date of final editing. Certain entries appear to be particularly late (e.g.,

11.24).

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In general, I think it is correct to say that these two core groups represent the heart of the text. The two groups show stylistic differences that might indicate

divergent factional or geographical origins, but they are not philosophically inconsistent. Duplicated material (e.g., 4.15, 15.3; 6.2, 11.7, and so forth) might

indicate common sources.

Among the remaining books in the "upper half," I follow Takeuchi in considering Book 1 a late summary text (1939:93­94). His speculation that it constituted a

pair with Book 10 makes sense in light of Huang K'an's report of the chapter order of the "Ku­lun," one of three versions of the text that circulated during the Han

(1939:88).

I feel that the disparate materials in Book 2 suggest a late date, as does the concern with filiality (2.5­8), atypical for the Analects (see Eno 1984:222n93). A:2.5

contains material attributed to Confucius by the Analects but to Tseng Shen by the Mencius (3A.2), and this strongly suggests that this portion of the text was at

least reshaped after Mencius' time, perhaps to support Ruism's growing interest in filiality.

Takeuchi offers many arguments for considering Book 9 to be late (1939: 95­98). It contains an unusual amount of material found in variant form in other books

(compare 9.5, 7.23; 9.10, 10.18; 9.11, 6.27, and 12.15; 9.12, 7.35; 9.14, 5.7; 9.18, 15.13; 9.25, 1.8; 9.29, 14.28). I think we should conclude that this book

was incorporated into the text very late, but might have existed as an independent "lun­yü," drawing on original sources used for other parts of the text from an

early date (although, assigning an early date to some of its entries, such as 9.9, would be difficult).

Ts'ui Shu argued that Books 16­20 were all of a relatively late date. I agree with regard to Books 16, 18, and 20 (but see Kaizuka 1951 for a different view of

Book 16). These books probably were added after the text was essentially complete, and they sometimes seem philosophically inconsistent with the rest of the

book, particularly Books 16 and 18.

An unusual proportion of entries in Book 17 appear in the Mencius and Hsun Tzu (e.g., M:7B.37 links A: 17.11 and 17.16; compare also M:3B.7 and A:17.1).

It seems most likely that the book postdates the Mencius, but that much of the material in it is older.

Ts'ui Shu regarded Book 19 as late because it records only the statements of disciples after Confucius' death. This reflects an optimistic view of the early date of

the bulk of the text, but from our standpoint, there seems to be no reason to assign a particularly late date to the chapter. The final six entries, all quoting Tzu­kung,

differ in style and content from the rest, and might be of independent origin, but, altogether, the book could be viewed as one of the earliest in the entire text.

For a somewhat different summary approach, see Lau 1979:222­33.

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7. Significant references to T'ien appear scattered among twelve of the twenty books of the Analects. Contrast the distribution of references to another important

notion, filiality, which are almost all centered in the first four books, most in a single cluster of entries in Book 2.

8. The Mo Tzu often seems to ignore the problem in its discussions of T'ien. See, for example, the T'ien­chih chapters (especially 7.2), where it is not only claimed

prescriptively that righteousness should be followed because T'ien wishes it, but also that empirical observation shows that T'ien always rewards the righteous.

9. Taoist texts sometimes (but by no means always) seem to suggest that T'ien is ethically neutral (e.g., CT:2.29, 2.40; TTC:73).

10. In the following analysis, we will adopt what might be called a "principle of overinterpretation." This is based on the notion that the Analects should be viewed as a

carefully composed canonical text. From an early date, both editors and disciple­readers probably viewed the text as brimming with symbolic meaning, and such

meaning may often have determined whether or not a given entry was included in the text. When we explore for "original" meanings in the Analects as an edited text,

we are justified in carrying our interpretations several steps further than we would if we were dealing with a less "sacred" text, or if we were looking at the text simply

as a record of Confucius' words.

11. Which, if any, conventional image we are expected to attach to T'ien is left vague. If we are correct in reading a sense of purposive action into T'ien's

"engendering" virtue, an anthropomorphic god would fit. But the passage could be read to mean that virtue itself protects Confucius, in which case he might possess it

through the action of T'ien as Nature without any implications of divine purpose.

12. For analyses of the root meaning of "te," see Munro 1969:99­108, 185­97; Jao 1975; Nivison 1978­79; Hall and Ames 1987:216­22.

13. In the case of A: 7.23, a greater than usual possibility might exist that the Shih­chi account reflects an early tradition. The Analects entry is so terse as to suggest

that traditional contextual material must have been transmitted orally with the text. In other cases in which the Shih­chi adds contextual material, this may not have

been the case, and Ssu­ma Ch'ien's account is more likely to reflect late embellishments of traditional material.

14. The fact that A:7.23 and 9.5 are two versions of one tale is noted by Dubs (1958:248n2) and Miyazaki (1974:248­49). Cheng Hsu­p'ing, relying on the evidence

of the Shih­chi, claims that these record distinct events several years apart (1963:88).

15. Commentators frequently interpret "wen" as denoting "culture," as in the later compound "wen­hua." In the Analects, it is actually used to

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suggest conventional patterns of style and behavior, a sense very close to li. It should be compared to the use of the compound "wen­li" in the Hsun Tzu. On the

etymology of "wen," see the discussion in chapter 1.

16. In this translation, I have taken "kuª" as a loan for "ku," a frequent loan relation (Daikanwa:3.65d). (The Lun­heng's version of the passage uses "ku" [Chen

1968:147].) I have interpreted "ku" as ''what is original or basic" in light of Graham's analysis of the term (1967:216). There has been much debate over the meaning

of the word "chiang." I have translated it "great" in light of H:32.30.

17. Miyazaki 1974:249 takes "chün­tzu" in this passage to denote "nobleman," in contrast to "humble"(compare A:11.1). Overtones of such a meaning might be

found in the passage. Perhaps "sage" was applied to commoners in an ironic sense.

18. Concerning the imagery denoted by "t'ien" in this passage: I feel that the thrust of Tzu­kung's remark—particularly if one interprets "ku" as I have—suggests that

"T'ien allows him" means, "he is endowed with the ability by nature." If this were true, T'ien would not necessarily be pictured as a purposive deity, but as a natural

process.

19. A:9.7 reads: "Lao says: 'The Master said, I have not been employed, hence I am skilled in arts.'" Numerous problems exist with this brief entry. Considering its

content, it is clearly a comment on A:9.6 (many interpreters regard A:9.6­7 as a single passage). For a detailed argument for regarding the passage as a late

commentary intrusion (including an admission of bias), see Eno 1984:291n45.

20. The last phrases of A:9.6 have sometimes been taken to mean that a chün­tzu should avoid acquiring many talents (see the pre­T'ang commentaries cited in

Ch'eng [1965:504]). A more accurate interpretation would be to say that "the quality of being a chün­tzu does not lie in possessing many abilities." The negative

particle "pu": "does not," should be read as approximating "fei": "is not" (parallel examples may appear at A:2.12, 6.25).

21. Some question might arise whether to regard Tzu­kung's statement in A:9.6 as true or as a disciple's mistaken reply. Confucius does not address it in his own

remarks, and seems to shift the subject from "Sagehood" to the "chün­tzu." The Analects tells us that Confucius refused to accord himself the labels of "Sage" or

"jen" (A:7.34), but it is quite clear that the Analects itself presents him as both (see, e.g., A:19.23­25). Because Confucius does not actually criticize his disciple's

reply (as he does at, e.g., A:3.21), I think we are safe in concluding that Tzu­kung's statement represents the position of the Analects on Confucius' virtue, and that

Confucius' change of subject should be interpreted as mild modesty.

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22. Both T'ien and "man's nature" probably should be considered as metaphysical notions here. The Shih­chi version of the passage (47.1941) refers not to man's

"nature" (hsing) but to his "natural decree" (hsing­ming), a phrase generally associated with the Chung­yung. If my interpretation of the passage seems somewhat

Mencian, it is because I take it to be a post­Mencian retrospective of Confucius' original teaching. The passage is a clear intrusion in Analects Book 5 (see Kimura

1971: 296), and the interest in hsing would be typically post­Mencian. The root meaning of "paradigm of style" is discussed below.

23. Sung commentators took this approach. See, for example, Chu Hsi's commentary (Ch'eng 1965:279­80).

24. I am referring here to the lengthy passages of the Yao tien that detail the charges to the Hsi and Ho clans. Liu Pao­nan points out the relevance of these passages

(LYCY: 166). The notion that the symbolic interpretation of natural forces was the primal basis of social order is a prominent theme in the "wings" of the Yi ching (e.g.,

Hsi­tz'u chuan:II.2).

I feel that A:8.19 is very strong evidence that the image of T'ien as Nature or as natural object is present in the Analects. Interpreters who wish to prove that it is

not (e.g., Fung 1931; Hou 1957; Ikeda 1965) conveniently ignore this passage in their analyses. Whether this proves that Confucius himself thought of T'ien as

Nature is a different matter. See the discussion on the dating of A:8.19 in Eno 1984:294n53.

Concerning the role of Yao as first Sage King, this is based on the view of history expressed in the philosophical texts, such as the three we are analyzing here.

Later Ruist texts do, of course, use the "pre­Yao" mythology, as do texts such as the Tso­chuan.

25. The translation of "calendar" for "li­shu" "successive numbers" follows Liu Pao­nan. I do not know why English translations have so carefully avoided this simple

gloss. The "wages of T'ien" (t'ien­lu) denotes the royal throne, the Sage King pictured as T'ien's stipended agent.

26. For instances of such usage, see, for example, CT: 1.30; H:5.43, 19.4. The Poetry (177/4) includes a description of barbarian army banners as "woven patterns

of bird insignia" (chih­wen niao chang). The basic meaning of "wen­chang" is avoided by Lau, who translates it "accomplishments," and by Legge ("display of

principle" or "regulations''). Waley and Chan split "wen­chang" into two, "culture and its insignia" or its "manifestation," which comes closer, but which forces them to

translate A:5.13 as if it were referring to Confucius' views about wen­chang; it is not referring to his views but to his example.

27. The ritual implications of A:8.19 may be reinforced by those of a nearby passage, A:8.21. In the latter, which appears to be an attempt to

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coopt the patron saint of Mohism, the Emperor Yü is portrayed in typical Mohist fashion but with an added Ruist component: "He dressed in shabby clothes, but

wore ritual robes and caps of consummate beauty." Both A:8.19 and 8.21 may share the function of ascribing Ruist ritual values to legendary Sages.

28. Following most commentators, I have chosen to disregard the variant which reads "fu" for "t'ien" reportedly occurring in the Han period Lu­version of the text.

There has been considerable debate over whether this passage pictures T'ien as Nature or as an anthropomorphic god ruling Nature. Fung Yu­lan at one time

claimed that the proposition "T'ien does not speak" implied that T'ien could speak but chose not to. He used this to prove that A:17.17 pictures T'ien

anthropomorphically (1931:83n). Fung's argument is unsound, however, as reference to H:3.28­29 quickly shows ("T'ien does not speak, yet people infer its great

depth; the four seasons do not speak, yet the people plan by them. . . . "). Fung himself has moderated his stance (1962:102), but his original view has been

influential (Hou 1957:154; Ikeda 1965:4). I feel that as it stands, there is no evidence that T'ien is portrayed anthropomorphically in A:17.17, and because T'ien is

clearly linked to the natural order, the hypothesis that T'ien is pictured as a natural force is to be preferred. Whether this means that Confucius himself pictured

T'ien in this way is another matter. On the possible late date of A:17.17, see Tsuda 1946:284.

29. For example, see Mencius' defensive reaction to the accusation that he enjoys sophistic debate (M:3B.9), and the Hsun Tzu's repeated attacks on the sophistic

distortion of language. In the Analects, "glibness" (ning) seems to be the opposite of jen (A:5.5, cf. 1.2, 12.3).

30. For example, "When a chün­tzu perfects his virtue, he is silent but understood" (H:3.29). See also M:7A.13, 7A.21.

31. Ts'ui Shu thought that this passage, along with A:6.29­30, was a late appended entry. A:6.29­30 are, indeed, prime candidates for a late date; Ts'ui might be

correct about all three.

32. This passage seems related to A:17.4.

33. Tales of Confucius' exemplary behavior in Wei may have been fabricated in response to rumors that he did, in fact, compromise his ideals there. M:5A.8 reports

such a rumor.

34. A:3.13 might echo certain themes of surrounding entries in addition to those we have noted. A:3.12 speaks of the importance of psychological piety during

sacrifice. A:3.14 celebrates the beauty of Chou ritual style. Standing between these, the political message of A:3.13 might suggest that political purity is a manifestation

of ritual devotion.

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35. The introduction of a teleological metaphysics suggests that early Ruism was "future oriented." I believe that this is essentially correct. Although Ruists celebrated

the past eras of the Sage Kings as a golden age, this does not mean they were pessimistic about the future, only that they placed a low valuation on the present. We

should not misinterpret the Ruist belief that the past should be a model for the future as pessimism about the future. Both the Mencius and Hsun Tzu suggest that the

ethical course of history is cyclical (M:2B.13; H:26.32), and the Analects might even suggest a progressive course (A:3.14, 9.23).

36. As Chu Hsi noted, the wooden bell metaphor might also point to the peripatetic nature of Confucius' late career, since criers who rang the bell walked as they

called out their message.

37. The doctrine of deferred teleological consequences is linked to the Ruist notion of "timeliness" (shih), on which, see the discussion in chapter V.

38. This and related problems, such as the question of the value of human effort, are entailed in the deterministic implications of the teleological model. The Analects

neither addresses nor solves these problems. It does seem to suggest, however, that the Sage has solved them, as we will see.

39. As, for example, A:1.1, which portrays the chün­tzu as a man whose devotion to ritual self­cultivation and Ruist group study is unsoured by his political obscurity.

See also A:14.38, where Confucius is called, "he who does what he knows to be in vain."

40. A:2.4 is employed by Hall and Ames (1987) as the framework for their study of Confucianism. While I find the many interpretive discussions therein stimulating

and in general compatible with the arguments here, my reading of A:2.4 differs from theirs in several respects, particularly with regard to the latter half of the passage.

41. The following points suggest a relatively late date for A:2.4: it is highly schematic in style; it is immodest, atypical for a self­characterization by Confucius; the notion

of "knowing T'ien's decree" is associated with late sections of the text (A:16.8, 20.3) and with Mencian doctrine; Book 2 is probably a late compilation (see note 6

above); the particle "yüª" that appears in this passage in most editions of the text (Ch'en 1968: 21) is atypical of the grammar of the text as a whole. Finally, as I hope

to show, A:2.4 is crafted with a high degree of conscious symbolism, which suggests a systematic doctrinal motive underlying its composition, rather than the personal

motive of reflective self­characterization. Note, however, that these arguments, while numerous, fall short of being conclusive.

42. This linkage is noted by many traditional commentaries (Ch'eng

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1965:64; see also the discussion in Hall and Ames 1987:85­86). The phonetic association between the two words should not be overstressed. Karlgren's

reconstructions are (li).

43. Pre­T'ang commentary interpreted the decree in political terms, much as I do here. T'ang and Sung interpreters, beginning with Han Yü and Li Ao, took a more

metaphysical tack, along the lines of M:7A.1 and CY:1 (see Ch'eng 1965:65­66). Among modern writers, interpretations vary from Fung Yu­lan's claim that

Confucius was describing a new perspective on natural truth (1962:115) to Dubs' remark that Confucius' discovery was that T'ien had ordained him to teach the

people (1958:247). Kaizuka (1973:34), T'ang (1974:515), and Miyazaki (1974:173) interpret the phrase much as I do.

44. Among the translations, only Waley's explicitly links the two phrases as I have. I am unable to make much sense out of translations such as, "At sixty I was at ease

with whatever I heard" (Chan 1963:22), or "At sixty my ear was attuned" (Lau 1979:63), although the interpretation given Lau's reading by Hall and Ames is an

insightful essay on the Ruist idea of the Sage (1987:253­304). Note that in the Tun­huang text, this phrase appears as "liu­shih ju shun": ''At sixty I was

compliant" (Ch'en 1968:22).

45. This is close to Kaizuka's interpretation (1973:34).

46. The word "chü": "proper bounds," has been glossed by most commentators as "fa": "prescriptive rule" (Ch'eng 1965:68­69). Fung takes it to denote li

(1962:116). Its root meaning is the carpenter's square. No other instances of its use are found in the Analects.

47. The relation between "chih" and "ta" discussed here has not, to my knowledge, been previously noted.

48. The notion that T'ien planned Confucius' failure for a purpose might be echoed in A:9.12, which reads:

The Master fell ill. Tzu­lu had the followers act as though they were feudal retainers. When his illness eased, the Master said, "How long Yu has practiced deception! Pretending

to have retainers when I have none, whom do I deceive? Do I deceive T'ien? Moreover, would I not rather die in the hands of you disciples than in the hands of retainers? And

even if I do not receive an elaborate funeral, am I being left by the roadside to die?"

The passage clearly celebrates the value of belonging to the Ruist community in contrast to belonging to the community of amoral political actors (how much better

disciples than retainers!). Tzu­lu had not yet grasped, as had Confucius, that T'ien had destined Confucius to teach rather than to govern. How could Confucius

deceive the director of his destiny with a charade—and having embraced that destiny

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as superior to the one he had once wished for, why would he want to?

While I think that this interpretation makes sense in terms of the Analects' overall treatment of T'ien, I much prefer the nonphilosophical interpretation presented in

section 3 of this chapter and would be content to omit this passage from inclusion in the editors' theory.

49. As in A:9.6, I read "kuª" as "ku." This avoids the tortured sentence division advocated by many commentators (see Ch'eng 1965:888), one that underlies

Waley's translation.

50. On the matter of the decree, some interpreters would take issue with my linkage of ming in A:14.36 and T'ien in A:3.13 and 14.35. These writers draw a sharp

line between the ming that T'ien decrees, as in A:2.4, which is prescriptive in their view, and the ming that is fatalistically predetermined (see the remarks of Ch'en

Chi­t'ing, cited by Yen Jo­ch'ü in Ch'eng 1965:65). T'ang Chün­yi bases his theory of the decree in the Analects on his belief that both sorts of ming are, for

Confucius, identical in meaning "righteousness" (yi) (1974:515). While I do not agree with T'ang, I do believe that the Analects sometimes uses "ming" in the sense

of "t'ien­ming," and that passages such as A:2.4 and 14.36 are talking about the same thing. In my view, all senses of ''ming" in the Analects are essentially

descriptive, not prescriptive (thus the gloss of "righteousness" is, I think, flawed). However, not all of these uses are "deterministic." In some cases, T'ien's decree has

meaning beyond the simple fact of its existence: it is a puzzle for the Sage to find normative value in its descriptive action. The purely deterministic sense of ming is

used only in connection with the meaning of "lifespan" (A:6.3, 6.10, and so forth). (On the matter of A:11.18: "Ssu's wealth increases despite his not receiving ming;

his speculations are frequently on the mark," which is frequently taken to mean that Tzu­kung somehow refused to accept T'ien's decree and aimed at wealth, my

inclination is to follow Chiao Hsun's interpretation that "ming" here denotes an order to assume office [Ch'eng 1965:698]. I do not feel that the strong condemnation

of Tzu­kung implied in the traditional interpretation makes sense in terms of his role in the Analects.)

For a fuller discussion of the meanings of "ming" and its role in early Ruism, see chapter V.

51. A:14.37 deals with eremeticism and begins: "The worthiest shun the world." A:14.38 includes the famous characterization of Confucius as "he who does what he

knows to be in vain." A:14.39 records a passerby's advice to Confucius: "If no one knows you, then give up." I would translate Confucius' response as: "Were this

right, it would all be so easy!"

52. Here ming should be understood in the narrow sense of one's allotted years. The parallel usage of ming and T'ien serves to emphasize the

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descriptive action of T'ien. But note that in assigning to T'ien the descriptive determination of social status, Tzu­hsia does not imply that T'ien is not normative. As

other passages indicate, the ritual diligence of the chün­tzu—while not determined by T'ien—does accord with T'ien as a prescriptive notion.

53. T'ang Chün­yi relies on the passage to formulate his model of the decree of T'ien in the Analects (1974:515). Fung Yu­lan even finds a mystical element in it

(1962:102), presumably with M:7A.1 in mind.

54. The passage is one of a series, each reciting a list of three things. No additional contextual material appears. Since whatever the decree of T'ien might be we

would expect the chün­tzu to respect it and the small man not to know it, the passage really provides little that would support one interpretation of the decree against

another.

55. A:11.10 records how Confucius' wailing at the funeral of Yen Yuan overstepped the proper bounds.

56. The functional equivalence of T'ien and tao is sometimes encountered in Taoist texts. There the tao, as with T'ien for the Ruists, can function both as a prescriptive

model for people and as a descriptive cosmic force. In Ruist texts, however, "tao" is used only prescriptively.

57. This count includes all instances except those where "t'ien" appears as an element of the binomes "t'ien­tzu" or "t'ien­hsia."

58. A theory exists that Confucius did not speak of T'ien because, although he held a traditional view that T'ien was prescriptively ethical, he felt that in light of the

chaos of the times no one would believe him if he said so (Hou 1957:152; Dubs 1958:246­47; Yang 1973:115­17). The theory cannot be decisively disproved, but it

conflicts, with what we do know about Confucius, and it ascribes to Confucius either a mysticism or a stubborn dogmatism for which there is no evidence.

59. Note that in A:7.21, "shen," might not mean "spirits" but "spirit­power."

60. A:3.12 is generally interpreted as expressing simultaneously religious piety and agnosticism. It reads: "'Sacrifice as though present': sacrifice to the spirits as though

they were present. The Master said, 'If I do not take part in a sacrificial rite, it is as though I had not sacrificed.' " The text seems to be corrupt (the second phrase

may be an interpolation), but the sense is clear. What is important about sacrifice is not feeding the spirits (whose real existence seems to be questioned by the phrase

"as though"), but personally expressing reverence.

Concerning the "agnostic" passages we have been discussing, Ikeda, who wishes to prove that Confucius held a traditional pietistic religious viewpoint, argues that

none of them actually disputes the existence of gods and spirits, while some, on the contrary, stress the need

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to respect them (1965:4­5). He cites Hou (1957:155), who notes the evident contradictons in an agnostic philosophy that celebrates religious ritual. Hou cites the

argument of the Kung Meng chapter of the Mo Tzu: "To hold that there are no spirits and study sacrificial ritual is like . . . setting out fish nets when there are no

fish" (12.11b­12a). What Ikeda ignores is that in the context of a religious society, passages like A:6.22, which fall short of endorsing spiritualism, have the effect

of expressing agnosticism. (Compare the example of Socrates, whose unwillingness to assert a belief in divinities as opposed to divine agencies was seen as a clear

token of atheism by his contemporaries—correctly, perhaps.) The cited Mo Tzu passage (and other passages in the Mo Tzu) make clear that early Ruism was

perceived as an atheism, and that despite the fact that its interest in religious ritual was contradictory, it apparently embraced that contradiction.

61. On the other hand, a variant rendering of the same tale at A:7.35 does seem to say something about religious metaphysics when it expresses scepticism about the

value of verbal prayer. On A:9.12, see note 48.

62. Dubs interprets this instrumental effect perfectly (1958:252). A similar instrumental interpretation should be applied to A:14.36 (which we discussed earlier), and

has been by Creel (1949:121).

63. Dubs takes this passage to show that "Confucius felt himself personally dependent upon Heaven" (1958:247). I cannot see how he arrives at this conclusion.

64. These two passages have closely parallel structures, a fact noted by Tsuda (1946:125). In both, Confucius makes a statement, Tzu­kung questions it, and

Confucius responds with a rhetorical question concerning T'ien. While I suspect that neither entry records an actual conversation (they seem too carefully crafted for

that), if we suppose that they do, they can be interpreted as examples of didactic playfulness. In both instances, Confucius' opening statement is surprising and starts

Tzu­kung thinking, and the concluding questions about T'ien serve to keep the issues of the passages unresolved and keep the disciple pondering over the value of

worldly success or doctrinal argument. It seems significant that Tzu­kung repeatedly plays this role in the Analects, in passages that are philosophically provocative

(e.g., 5.4, 11.16, 14.17, 15.3).

65. The dating of A:2.4 is discussed above. On A:8.19, see Eno 1984:294n53. I follow Ts'ui Shu in taking Book 16 to be a very late text. Note that for my theory

concerning Confucius' doctrinal silence to be valid, it is not necessary that any Analects passage referring to T'ien be proven to be an accurate record of Confucius'

speech.

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Chapter V

1. In preparing translations and commentary for the Mencius, I have taken the MTYT text as standard. For traditional commentary, I have used the Meng Tzu cheng­

yi [MTCY], a mid­Ch'ing work by the brothers Chiao Hsun and Chiao Hu that includes the notes of Chao Ch'i (d. 201 A.D.), the Han editor of the text. I have

consulted and benefited from the following English translations: Legge 1894, Dobson 1963, Chan 1963 (partial), Lau 1970. All translations are my own.

2. The history of the text is obscure; we know very little about it prior to Chao Ch'i's second century A.D. editorial work. According to Chao's introduction, the text

was highly revered during the early Han, and the government even appointed an exegete specializing in the Mencius, as it did for the recognized classics (MTCY:10).

However, the post lapsed at some unknown time, and we have no other record of the course of the text during the Han apart from the fact that it was noted in Liu

Hsin's Ch'i lueh and the Yi­wen chih as having eleven books. When Chao Ch'i annotated the text, he chose not to include the final four books, which he regarded as

inferior and spurious, and they were eventually lost. See Kanaya 1950­51:20­21 and Lau 1970:220­22.

3. Certain passages, such as M:4B.33 might have been appended to the original text. A number of entries in Book 4B have an unusual narrative style that could

indicate a late date (e.g., 4B.29, 31).

4. Kanaya, for example, feels that Book 4 represents Mencius' earliest thought, and Book 7 his latest (1950­51:24, 42).

5. In M:IA.1, King Hui of Liang addresses Mencius by a term generally reserved for elders (sou). The king was himself well on in years, having reigned approximately

fifty years at the time (according to Ch'ien Mu's chronology).

6. The Shih­chi claim that Mencius was trained in the Tseng Tzu/Tzu­ssu faction of Ruism seems borne out by the many references to these men in the text of the

Mencius (and also by remarks in the Hsun Tzu [6.14]). However, the Mencius also frequently cites the words of an early Ru named Kung­ming Yi, who may have

belonged to the Tzu­chang faction of Ruism (LCCC:180).

7. Mencius' personal obscurity is remarkable and reinforces our impression of the general obscurity of Ru during the Warring States period. Even Mencius' "style

name" (tzu) is unknown (but see HS:30.1728n3). On early legends about Mencius, see Lau 1970:214­19.

8. The chronology of Mencius' travels is a matter of dispute (varieties of models are conveniently listed in Daikanwa:3.838c). We can deduce certain facts from the

text of the Mencius, but others remain problem­

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atic. As certain points of interpretation hang upon such issues, developing a reliable chronology is of some importance. The chronology that lies behind the account

here accepts Ch'ien Mu's theory that Mencius made two visits to the state of Ch'i, which allows us to account for the otherwise inexplicable fact that after the

disastrous breach of etiquette recorded in M:2B.2, Mencius was still able to receive high honors in Ch'i. Our model of Mencius' itinerary runs: Ch'i (prior to 319

B.C.), Sung (after 328), Tsou, T'eng, Ch'i (after 319, including 314­312), Lu (retirement). The visit to Liang occurred somewhere between the two trips to Ch'i.

These issues are treated in greater detail in Eno 1984:360­62.

9. According to Ts'ui Shu, Mencius continued to pursue his travels after leaving Ch'i. However, the model we are using here concludes Mencius' career with his

resignation in Ch'i. The notion that Mencius' resignation in Ch'i was for the announced purpose of retirement is implied in the use of the word "kuei" in M:2B.10. Note

that the incident in Lu recorded in M:1B.16 could have occurred in Mencius' retirement, particularly because Mencius' homeland of Tsou was essentially a part of the

somewhat larger state of Lu (although M:IB.12 indicates they were still politically distinct).

10. The point most often cited to prove this is the use of posthumous titles to refer to rulers in the text. Some of these rulers, at least, probably died after Mencius,

who would therefore not have known them by the names used in the text. Ch'ien Mu has argued (1956:374) that because the ruler of Sung—the last of these men to

die—alone is not referred to by posthumous title, the text was probably edited before his death (286 B.C.), but after the death of the next latest lived ruler (Liang

Hsiang Wang, d. 296 B.C). This narrows the dates of the text nicely, but the theory suffers because it is not apparent from the text that there was any occasion to

name the ruler of Sung at all: he is never referred to in a narrative passage.

11. Kanaya offers a theory of Book 2 as Kung­sun Ch'ou's record of his adoption of Mencius as a teacher (1950­51:24). Jeffrey Riegel (1979: 450n4) has offered

an interesting theory that Kung­sun Ch'ou was not a disciple at all. Reigel's theory, however, seems to conflict with the apparent fact that Kung­sun Ch'ou traveled

with Mencius. For a more detailed discussion, see Eno 1984:363n11.

12. Kanaya (1950­51:25) notes this division and mentions that the first to describe it was Ito * Jinsai (1626­1705).

13. For example, the Tso­chuan, a Ruist history, puts the following speech into the mouth of the ruler of Chu: "If something benefits the people, it benefits me. T'ien

gave birth to the people and established rulers for their benefit" (Wen 13:9.14).

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14. This figure was probably not Mencius' invention. It is a part of a theory of historical cycles found in the Shih­chi (27.1344).

15. Doctrines such as "timeliness" were not restricted to Ruism. They appear in Taoist and Legalist texts as well. The term "shih" does not appear in the Analects in

the sense of "timeliness" except at A:10.21, which might be a late appended entry (see Ts'ui Shu's comments in WSTK:458). The sense of the doctrine is, however, a

pervasive theme of the text.

16. It can be argued that all of Mencius' discussions of true Kingship implicitly involve a theory of T'ien, because the theory of the "Mandate of Heaven" underlies

them. In fact, the mandate theory plays an explicit role only in M:5A.5­6 (it is also referred to in a cited passage in M:4A.8), and Mencius is never shown mentioning

the theory to a political actor. In view of this, I have chosen not to read the theory into passages where it is not explicitly mentioned.

17. Compare M:2B.8. I have rendered "tib": "match," as "enemy" without meaning to reject the gloss of "peer.'' The idea is that such a ruler would have no rival in

virtue or in politics.

18. The two rulers who are noted as honoring smaller states are T'ang, who honored the Ko people (M:3B.5), and King Wen, who honored the K'un­yi people (see

the discussion in MTCY:65­66). The rulers who submitted to powerful states are King T'ai, the progenitor of the Chou line, who submitted to the Hsun­yü, and Kou­

chien, the ruler of Yueh, who submitted to the state of Wu.

19. "Without expanding its borders or increasing its population, if [Ch'i] were to practice humane government no one could stop its ruler from becoming a [true]

King" (M:2A.1).

20. "The Documents says: 'T'ien set down the people and created for them rulers and teachers. . . .' King Wu brought peace to the people of the world in a single

burst of wrath. If you would also bring peace to the world, the people would fear only that you did not love [wrathful] valor" (M:1B.3).

21. There is, however a passage that directly contradicts this. In M:4A.8 Mencius claims that by following the proper policies, the leader of even a small state can

come to rule the Empire within seven years. M:1B. 14 and 4A.8 cannot really be reconciled. Their essential difference might be that in M:lB.14, Mencius is actually

addressing the ruler of a small state, and so risks any predictions he makes being put to a test. M:4A.8 merely quotes Mencius' teachings out of context, and he might

have been speaking (or the author/editor writing) in a more theoretical vein.

22. It is interesting that Mencius does not discuss these Sage Kings in his persuasions of rulers. The models he offers them, T'ang of the Shang,

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Wen and Wu of the Chou, were Sage Kings by conquest rather than by pure virtue.

23. It is difficult to believe that the bow that Mencius here makes to spiritualist religious notions was intended to be deeply philosophical. It is, to my knowledge, the

only pre­Ch'in spiritualistic passage in a Ruist philosophical text (by contrast, the historical text Tso­chuan includes several of them). As noted, the passage goes on to

discuss the will of T'ien as being expressed through the action of people, and the action of the spirits is not emphasized. See the following note.

24. In this passage, the word "hsiang" should probably be interpreted as including a religious sense of "master of ritual ceremony" (a common use of the term). In

saying the action of T'ien allowed Shun to act as hsiang for Yao for a prolonged period, Mencius seems to be saying that no natural disasters occurred throughout this

period, proving that the spirits (i.e., T'ien) were satisfied with state sacrifices of which Shun, as Prime Minister, might have been in charge. By this interpretation, the

spirits, and T'ien, are reduced to the status of descriptive "action and event'' in the natural sphere, and are at least partially rationalized.

25. Mencius cites these words from the T'ai shih chapter of the Documents, now lost. Similar language appears in the extant Kao Yao mo chapter.

26. This rule appears to foreclose the possibility of righteous conquests such as those that founded the Shang and Chou Dynasties. In order to make his main point—

the legitimacy of hereditary rule—Mencius seems willing to ignore numerous contradictions in his arguments.

27. My interpretation of this passage is closer to Dobson (1963:63) than to Legge or Lau. I take "chihf" in the sense of "bestow" (SWCTKL:5B:2317b), rather than

in the sense of "bring about," and so take the "ming" of this passage to refer specifically to the royal mandate, rather than to the more general notion of fate.

28. Both M:5A.5 and 5A.6 have the effect of delegitimizing arbitrary cession of thrones and of supporting the institutional status quo. The motivation to argue against

the cession of the throne might have been tied to Mencius' actions in Ch'i where his condemnation of the Yen ruler's abdication was used to help justify an invasion of

Yen by Ch'i (see chapter II). These passages might have been intended to answer critics of Mencius' actions in Ch'i.

On a broader scale, these passages illustrate Mencius' institutional conservatism, a facet of his thinking that seems at times to conflict with his populist doctrines

and that has led some communist writers to brand him as violently reactionary (see the discussion in Hou 1957: 382­87). Mencius seems at times to oppose the

replacement of incum­

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bent officeholders with talented newcomers (M:1B.7, but see Munro 1969:205n) and includes hereditary appointments for all offices as part of his ideal

government (M:1B.5). These statements indicate a devotion to traditional Chou political values. On the other hand, Mencius was not averse to serving usurpers: he

does not mention to the rulers of Liang and Ch'i that their thrones were not legitimately obtained by their lineages, nor does he seem concerned, when in Sung, that

the ruler has recently usurped the title of King; on the contrary, that seems to have induced him to go to Sung.

Mencius' institutional conservatism seems to follow the path of least resistance, and suggests that he was willing to overlook deficiencies in the pragmatic

institutions of the Warring States period in order to work within them. Mencius faced two practical problems of considerable difficulty: finding a man to convert

into a new King—one who really stood a chance of fulfilling millennial prophecy—and supporting a large entourage of disciples (on the size of his following, see

M:3B.4). The men best able to solve both these problems for Mencius were those best placed within the existing political system, and Mencius did not quarrel

with their legitimacy.

Perhaps we could generalize on Mencius' behalf and say that for him the possession of political power represented an ethical opportunity to establish a higher

legitimacy by creating an ethical world. This attitude would account for the language we find in M:5B.3, where Mencius refers to the throne of a feudal state as the

"office of T'ien," a phrase properly applied only to the Chou throne.

29. The exception is Yueh­cheng Tzu, about whom we know somewhat more (see chapter II, note 52).

30. The totalism is also implicit in discussions of Sage models, such as Yao and Shun, who are represented as essentially perfect men.

31. These are the four sprouts: jen, yi, li, and chihª, sometimes translated as "humanity," "righteousness," "ritual," and ''wisdom." While the last of these is an adequate

translation, problems arise with the other three. For the sake of consistency, I will refer to all four sprouts by transcription only.

32. Passages of the Mencius occur almost verbatim in the Chung­yung (e.g., compare M:4A.13 and CY:20). The authors of the Chung­yung and Ta­hsueh have

traditionally been taken as Tzu­ssu and Tseng Tzu, the founders of Mencius' faction of Ruism. See Tu 1976:21­22.

33. The most straightforward presentation of the two­schools model I know of appears in Takeuchi 1936, chapter 3. (Takeuchi does not assign Hsun Tzu to either

school because of certain statements made in the Fei shih­erh tzu chapter of the Hsun Tzu.) See also Levenson and

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Schurmann 1969:43. The model I refer to in the text is implicit in many discussions of Ruist philosophical diversity; usually, however, the opposition of the schools

is discussed in terms of contrasting "idealist" and "materialist" tendencies.

34. See, for example H:3.27­28, which is very close in language and spirit to CY:23. Similar ideas appear in different terminology in the first two chapters of the Hsun

Tzu, which lay their greatest stress on the value of ritual study. Other chapters, such as Chieh­pi and Ch'eng­hsiang share the meditative interests of the Chung­yung

and Ta­hsueh.

35. This is particularly true of Tseng Shen, as he appears In the T'an kung chapter of the Li­chi, and more particularly, in the so­called Tseng Tzu chapters of the Ta

Tai li­chi (chaps. 49­58).

36. Although I believe that any model that divides Ruism into schools that are pro­li and neutral toward li is inaccurate, early Ruism certainly was highly factionalized.

Disciples of Mencius and Hsun Tzu may be said to have belonged to different traditions of Ruism, but not in the sense of the two­schools model described here.

37. Although the Mencius does not name Taoism or any philosopher unquestionably Taoist, I regard it as possible that his attacks on Yang Chu were directed against

the Taoist school. See note 41 below.

38. See, for example, the attacks on Ruist ritual ideas in the Fei Ju, Fei yueh, Chieh tsang, and Kung Meng chapters of the Mo Tzu. The figure in the Mo Tzu most

ridiculed for slavish adherence to li is Kung Meng Tzu, who is probably a caricature of Mencius. (The possibility that this is so makes it questionable whether we

should take Kung Meng as a double surname, and this is why I have avoided doing so.) The fact that the Kung Meng chapter of the Mo Tzu includes references to

Mencius' contemporary Kao Tzu increases the possibility of the identity of Kung Meng Tzu and Mencius (Meng Tzu). Note, however, that traditional identifications of

Kung Meng Tzu have differed [MTCK:12.12]).

39. The Mencius' polemical attitude is best exemplified by M:3B.9, wherein Mencius responds to the "charge" that he enjoys argument. Mencius' reply is itself a

demonstration of rhetorical skill, as he defensively rationalizes his propensity to debate by describing his missionary impulses to rescue people from false doctrines.

The Mencius is entirely lacking in the graceful humility that the Analects portrays in the figure of Confucius (e.g., A:5.9, 7.34, 17.3). In passages such as M:2B.2,

there is almost a sense of desperation in the rationalization of Mencius' most arrogant behavior.

40. Some of the main themes of this analysis are recapitulated in Graham 1978:15­18.

41. Elsewhere, I have discussed at length the difficulties I have with Graham's

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theory (1984:370­72). To note the main problems briefly: (1) If Mencius' antipathy toward Yang Chu were based on the latter's doctrine of hsing, why was Yang

Chu's name never connected with hsing in the Mencius (nor in any text before the Huai­nan Tzu)? (2) Graham reconstructs Yang Chu's philosophy largely from

chapters in the Lü­shih ch'un­ch'iu that consist of material found also in the Chuang Tzu. Why associate the ideas with Yang Chu rather than Chuang Tzu (per his

later ghostwriters)? (3) Graham's theory fails to provide insights into the issue of why Yang Chu's philosophy vanished. Such answers are provided by the

controversial theory that Yang Chu was a variant name for Chuang Chou (see Ts'ai Yuan­p'ei's presentation in Yen 1971:12.13940). This latter theory itself

involves several difficulties, but none, to my mind, is fatal, and the logic behind it is strong.

42. "Yi" was a traditional ethical term adopted by Ruists for special stress. It appears in pre­Ruist materials such as attested bronze inscriptions. As noted in chapter

III, "jen" seems to have been transformed into an important ethical term by Confucius himself.

43. The Mo Tzu stresses the cognate meanings of "yi": "right" and ''yiª": "standard." See the Fa­yi chapter and also Shang­t'ung 1:3.1­2.

44. On jen, see, for example, MT, Chien­ai II:4.3a. On yi, see, e.g., Fei kung III:5.7b­8a.

45. In this respect, the Huai­nan Tzu report is confirmed by the many references to the Hsia founder Yü in the Mo Tzu. Yü is generally regarded as the Mohists' ideal

model.

46. For information on Mohists as craftsmen, see Graham 1978:6­7, 11. On their connection with the martial arts, see Fung 1948:37,50.

47. For an extended example of an explicit attack on Chou li as relative, see MT, Chieh tsang :6.14b­15a.

48. See also MT, Fa yi, which many interpreters consider to be a late chapter.

49. I do not mean to contend that the equivalence of the two terms is complete in the text. In some passages "yi" clearly refers to political acts undertaken in

compliance with the doctrine of timeliness (e.g., M:5A.8: "Confucius advanced according to li and retired according to yi"). My point is that li and yi overlap in such

a way as to allow Mencius to portray the arena of li as the root of the less doctrinally problematic notion yi, when the latter term is under close analysis.

50. On the aesthetic dimensions of this overlap in Ruism, see the discussion in chapter II.

51. Riegel (1979:444) translates: "It is what is produced by joining with propriety," following Chao Ch'i's gloss of chi as tsa (var. tsaª). But Chao's gloss does not

suggest a linkage of two elements as Riegel's rendering suggests, but the intertwining of many threads into a cloth (in the root

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sense of "tsa"). It should be understood as an attempt to use graphemic resonance to give a descriptive interpretation of the way in which cultivating one's

inclinations toward yi progressively nurtures a reciprocal growth of the ch'i. The metaphor is completed by the term "hsi," in the sense of ''a suit of clothing" (I am

indebted to Neil Bolick for this suggestion).

52. Flood­like energy (hao­jan chih ch'i) is sometimes taken to refer to practices of breath control. "Ch'i" could literally denote the breath (on its root meaning of

"vapor" see Riegel 1979:453n24), and judging from some sections of the Chuang Tzu and Kuan Tzu, meditational practices involving breath control existed in early

China. However, "ch'i" had other meanings as well. In M:2A.2, the discussion of the flood­like energy is presented as Mencius' version of doctrines that other

thinkers phrased as techniques to cultivate valor. "Ch'i" did carry a meaning of righteous wrath or bravery. For example, the Han Fei Tzu records this tale: "The King

of Yueh was considering a campaign against Wu, and wished his countrymen to regard death as a matter of no importance. Setting out one day, he spied a furious

frog and bowed to him from his carriage. 'What is there to honor in him?' the King's followers asked. 'He has ch 'i!' answered the King" (Nei ch 'u­shuo I:9.8b). A

more theoretical discussion of ch'i in the context of bravery can be found in LSCC, Chüeh sheng:8.7b.

Mencius tells us that the path to the hao­jan chih ch 'i is yi, righteousness, a term linked to active li practice rather than to passive breath control. Mencius may

have been describing feelings of righteous self­confidence acquired through a stylization of personal behavior which made "right" action feel spontaneous.

53. The last two of these entries are not part of the "debate with Kao Tzu," although they enlarge on Mencius' arguments there. In the interests of brevity we will not

deal with them here.

54. The Mencius does not explicitly state Kao Tzu's philosophical affiliation. Mencius' implicit praise for Kao Tzu's level of self­cultivation itself argues for a Ruist

identification (M:2A.2), and there are other indications that this is correct. Kao Tzu's concern with jen and yi narrow the possible alternatives to Ruism and Mohism,

and his statement at M:6A.4: "I love my brother, I do not love the brother of some man from Ch'in" is clearly a slap at the Mohist doctrine of universal love. In the

Kung Meng chapter of the Mo Tzu, we find Kao Tzu appearing as an anti­Mohist (12.16b17a). Graham has demonstrated that Kao Tzu's ideas appear in a

completely Ruist context in the Chieh chapter of the Kuan Tzu (1967:228­31).

55. This may be the implication of Mencius' remark that Kao Tzu achieved an unmoved mind before he himself did (M:2A.2).

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56. Jeffrey Riegel's recent study of M:2A.2 (1979) has suggested some important new ideas elaborating Kao Tzu's theory that "yi is external." Riegel argues that the

essential meaning of Kao Tzu's theory is not expressed directly in the M:6A debates, but is contained in a teaching that Mencius attributes to Kao Tzu and cites in

M:2A.2: "If you do not get it from the word do not seek it in the mind; if you do not get it from the mind do not seek it in the ch'i" (trans. Riegel). Riegel paraphrases

Kao Tzu's theory thus: ''[Never] seek, nor indeed hope to find in the mind what is not got from doctrines and teachings and never . . seek, nor hope to find in the

natural dispositions . . . what is not got from the mind" (439­40). Riegel's insight into the importance of 2A.2 in this context is excellent, but I do not agree with his

interpretation of Kao Tzu's doctrine, which I believe was an aspect of his attack on Mohism. If we follow Riegel in linking this formula to Kao Tzu's position on yi, its

balanced structure suggests that it is a version of the entire bipartite doctrine, namely that yi is external but that jen is internal. If we interpret the passage in this way, its

sense may be paraphrased thus: "Whenever one faces an issue of propriety (yi), if a given course of action does not accord with teachings [sanctioned by Kao Tzu],

do not seek to rationalize it by finding grounds for it in inclinations of the mind—they are not relevant to propriety. Whenever one faces a situation that relates to jen,

then if a course of action does not tally with the inclinations of the mind (e.g., Mohism's universal love [cf. 6A.4]), then do not seek to overrule the inclinations of the

mind with voluntaristic energy (as Mohists do)." In this way, Kao Tzu allows for ritual prescript to overrule spontaneous inclinations in matters pertaining to yi, and

implicitly characterizes Mohist altruistic utilitarianism as "unjen": a well­thought Ruist position. For a more detailed discussion, see Eno 1984:374­76.

57. We might note that there is little reason to insist that there ever occurred an actual debate between Mencius and Kao Tzu such as the one described in M:6A.1­4.

Kao Tzu, Mencius' senior, may have been long dead at the time the debate was composed. The speeches put into Kao Tzu's mouth are probably Mencian

constructions, which would explain why Mencius is always able to have the last word.

58. On the explication and functionality of the arguments in these passages, see Lau 1970:234­63, especially, 234­43.

59. The central issue of these three passages is whether people have innate species­specific ethical dispositions. Kao Tzu's analogies are consistent with a position that

people possess no norms apart from those common to all animal species (although his analogies are intended only to assert the indeterminancy of most ethical

dispositions). In M:6A.3, Mencius pins Kao Tzu by invoking the commonsense notion that animal

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species have distinguishing properties. In M:6A.6, he indicates that the properties that distinguish mankind are specifically ethical.

60. The legendary model of Yi Yin, who according to M:5A.7 turned the founder of the Shang Dynasty into a true King, might exemplify the scenario Mencius

pictured for his own career.

61. Donald Munro has noted, "One reason why Mencius held that man's nature was good was his logical confusion of the ideal man with the actual man" (1969:72).

In terms of Mencius' political aspirations, the confusion was not truly logical, it was practical. Without it, Mencius would have had no political career at all.

62. On the notions of moral motivation that supported Mencius' extravagant hopes, see Nivison 1979.

63. The first book of the Mencius makes no mention of hsing either, but it includes only "persuasions" of rulers, and we might not expect Mencius to raise with them

what was then a technical philosophical issue. Note that in Book 3, the sole reference to hsing occurs in the opening phrases of the book, in a narrative introduction.

The reference describes the content of a persuasion; however, the persuasion we see does not refer to the doctrine of hsing, but to the related nontechnical formula

that "any man can become Yao or Shun." The use of the word "hsing" in M:3A.1 might reflect the fact that the editors of the text understood that the two doctrines

were equivalent and not that Mencius explained the theory of hsing to the Duke of T'eng. My suspicion is that at the time Mencius was in T'eng speaking to the future

Duke, he probably had not yet reformulated the early theories of ''any man can be Yao or Shun" and the four sprouts into the doctrine of the good hsing.

64. The proximity of the proofs of the internality of yi, which equate yi with the feeling of respect (ching), probably accounts for the fact that the M:2A.6 description

of the sprout of li as "a sense of deference" (tz'u­jang) is reformulated in 6A.6 as "a sense of respect" (kung­ching), making it equivalent to yi in the previous

passages. For the purposes of persuading rulers that their minds contained moral impulses, the proof of the internality of jen was probably sufficient. The proof is not

repeated at 6A.6, and this is perhaps because it is irrelevant to the debate with Kao Tzu, where the issue is the status of yi.

65. Graham wishes to extend this sort of usage throughout early Chinese texts, but I doubt that this is warranted. Certainly the Hsun Tzu frequently uses "hsing" in a

sense restricted quite narrowly to "what is possessed at birth." For the argument that "hsing" always meant simply "what is inborn" in pre­Ch'in texts and that the

character used during the period was graphemically identical with "shengª" to be

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born," see Fu 1940, especially I:33b­39a. On Mencius' concept of hsing as pointing to man's potential for growth, see Lau 1953:561.

66. Graham has made a detailed analysis of this passage (1967:251­54). I am indebted to it, but my interpretation is somewhat different.

67. The interpretation of "ku" as "primitive" follows Graham. Previous translations of this passage have differed from mine in taking "chih­che" to refer to a type of

person, a wise or clever man. However, the word is used interchangeably with "chih," just as "ku­che'' and "ku" are used, and I think that by understanding "chih­

che" in the sense of the abstract noun "chih": "intelligence," the many difficulties of the passage become soluble.

68. I am taking the second instance of "ku" here to denote "innately," consistent with the usage in M:4B.26. The interpretation eliminates the awkward syntax

suggested by the usual gloss of "therefore."

69. Mencius' opinion of himself was not low. When asked if he was a Sage, he professed shock at the thought of such presumption, but only to the extent of noting

that even Confucius did not claim to be a Sage (M:2A.2). The point is that Mencius surely did regard himself as virtuous enough to test the assertion in question.

70. The teaching that Ch'ung Yü quotes back to Mencius appears as Confucius' comment on his own political failures in A:14.35. When Mencius replies, "that was

one time, this is another," both he and Ch'ung Yü probably understood this to mean, "Confucius' failure was a function of the social realities of his time; according to

the realities of our time, my mission should not have failed, hence Confucius' words do not apply here."

71. My phrase "personal decree" is not a translation. I use it to distinguish this doctrine of ming from the doctrine of the Mandate of Heaven, which applies only to

kings.

72. The graphemic form used is "ling."

73. Excavated vessels that used the word in this sense include the Shih Yü chung, the Fu Shu ting, and some of the Hsing chung inscriptions (WW 1975:8.58;

1976:1.94; 1978:3.7).

74. The Mo Tzu raises this issue in several places, for example, Fei ming 1:9. lb.

75. The ruler­subject metaphor cannot he stretched too far in this passage; the notion of "knowing T'ien" seems to fall outside of it. The fluctuations of the imagery

used to speak of Tien in M:7A.1 leads Fung Yu­lan to speak as if Mencius were talking about two T'iens here, an ethical one and a fatalist one (Fung 1962:225­26;

compare Li 1961: 45­46). Ikeda (1965:7­8) seems to think that T'ien in this passage represents something close to Natural Law. A widespread school of

interpretation takes passages such as 7A. 1 to indicate that Mencius believed in

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an ontological idealism, where "the objective world loses the basis of its existence" (Hou 1957:396). I feel very strongly that descriptions of Mencian philosophy as

an "idealism," while convenient for categorizing, represent a distortion of the type of philosophy Mencius was doing and are a misapplication of the comparative

method. It is akin to reading Mencius between the lines of Wang Yang­ming's works.

The references to lifespan in M:7A. 1 area play on the second meaning of "ming," but should not be misunderstood as the operant meaning of the term in the

passage.

76. The final phrase is a reference to the doctrine of timeliness and is a warning against incautious political activism.

77. The function of the word "ming" here essentially is no different from the way the word "shih" is used in the doctrine of timeliness. Compare the following two

passages: "The chün­tzu simply acts according to rule to await his ming'' (M:7B.33); "The chün­tzu studies broadly, plans deeply, cultivates himself and acts uprightly

to await his shih" (H:28.40­41).

78. The idea expressed here is also evident in Mencius' interpretation of the Poetry couplet: "Ever matching T'ien's decree, seek for fortune through

yourself" (M:4A.2). The resemblance of these Mencian ideas to Stoic philosophy in the West is striking.

79. On this point, see Kanaya 1956:48. Several ideas in this section have been influenced by Kanaya's analysis.

80. The phrase "moral tropism" has been used by Arthur Danto to describe the action of perfect wisdom in the Ruist Sage.

Chapter VI

1. I have not seen Itano's article. It is familiar to me only through the description of its major theme in Matsuda 1975:65.

2. In preparing translations and commentary for the Hsun Tzu, I have taken the HTYT text as a standard. For traditional commentary, I have relied on the Hsun Tzu

chi­chieh (HTCC), a Ch'ing period commentary by Wang Hsien­ch'ien, and the Hsun Tzu chien­shih (HTCS) a Republican period commentary by Liang Ch'i­

hsiung. I have consulted and benefited from the following partial English translations: Dubs 1928a; deBary 1960; Chan 1963; Watson 1963.

3. In the text of the Hsun Tzu, the name appears both as Sun Ch'ing Tzu and Hsun Ch'ing Tzu. The earliest edition of the text, compiled by Liu Hsiang late in the first

century B.C., was entitled Sun Ch'ing hsin shu, or "The New Book of Sun Ch'ing." During the late Chou, the variant characters prob ably were near homophones

(GSR readings are /sun).

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4. The variety of birth dates assigned to Hsun K'uang range from Ch'ien Mu's 340 B.C. (1956:333­35) to John Knoblock's suggested range of 315­305 B.C. (1982­

83:34). Intermediate theories include c.335 B.C. (HTCS: 420) and 316 B.C. (Hsia 1979:25­26). The central issues dividing the "early daters" from the "late daters"

are inconsistancies among the accounts found in the Shih­chi and in Liu Hsiang's preface to the Hsun Tzu on the one hand, and in the late Han work Feng­su t'ung­yi

on the other. The former two works state that Hsun K'uang first came to Ch'i at age fifty, but the third tells us that he was fifteen. Both Liu Hsiang's preface and the

Feng­su t'ung­yi suggest that Hsun K'uang arrived in Ch'i during the reigns of King Wei (r. 357­320 B.C.) and King Hsuan (r. 319­301 B.C.), but Liu's preface

inverts the names of the kings, raising the question of whether the text actually refers to Kings Hsuan and Min (r. 300­284 B.C.) (Ch'ien 1956:334).

Scholars inclined to assign an early birth date to Hsun K'uang cite an account in the Han Fei Tzu that places Hsun K'uang in Yen in 316 B.C. (HFT: 16.3b).

Their opponents can point to an account in the Yent'ieh lun that indicates that Hsun K'uang was active as late as c.220 B.C. (YTL:4.7b).

5. Most sources agree that Hsun K'uang survived Huang Hsieh, who died in 238 B.C.

6. I am following the emended Liu Hsiang account and interpreting it to mean that Hsun K'uang arrived in Ch'i late in the reign of King Hsuan or during the reign of

King Min.

7. The identity of the founding ruler is uncertain. It was either King Wei or King Hsuan (see Ch'ien 1956:232).

8. On the vicissitudes of the Chi­hsia Academy, see Ch'ien 1956:231­33.

9. YTL:2.14a.

10. SC:74.2348; Sun Ch'ing hsin­shu hsu­lu (HTCC:20.46); FSTY:7.2.

11. T'ien Chien was the last ruler of the Chou state of Ch'i; he was given no posthumous title.

12. Considerable confusion abounds with regard to dating Ch'u's encroachment upon Ch'i and the seizure of Lu. Ch'u first seized portions of the greater Ch'i realm in

284 B.C., when Ch'u aligned with a number of northern states against Ch'i, and procured the area known as Huai­pei, which probably designated a strip of land

between the Huai and Sui Rivers (SC:40.1729­30). In 261 B.C. Ch'u again attacked Ch'i, seizing more of Ch'i's southern territory, this time portions of the old state

of Lu between the Sui River and the Rivers Ssu and Tan, a piece of land known as Hsu­chou (SC:33.1547). Finally, in 255 B.C., Ch'u, under the leadership of Huang

Hsieh, seized those portions of Lu north of the Ssu, which included the town of Lan­ling (SC:78.2395). (Geographical

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interpretations are based on CKLSTTC:1.43­44.)

Clarity concerning the sequence of events is crucial in evaluating the theories of Ch'ien Mu concerning Hsun K'uang's tenure at Lan­ling (1956:431­34). Ch'ien

maintains if that Hsun K'uang did indeed serve at Lan­ling, then it must have been during his first (and, for Ch'ien, only) stay in Ch'u, beginning c. 284 B.C. This

theory, which entails extensive revision of Hsun K'uang's biography, requires the assumption that Ch'u received possession of Lan­ling in 284 B.C., which conflicts

with all Shih­chi accounts.

13. SC:74.2348. An elaborate tale appears in several sources, describing how, soon after assuming the post of magistrate, Hsun K'uang was dismissed by Huang

Hsieh, traveled to Chao, where he was appointed a High Minister, and was, at last, induced by a repentant Huang Hsieh to return to Lan­ling (CKT, Ch'u Ts'e:5.38b­

40a; Sun Ch'ing hsin shu hsu­lu [HTCC: 20.47]; HSWC:4.13b­15a). The authenticity of this tale was questioned as early as the eighteenth century by Wang Chung

(HTCC, K'ao­cheng: 34­35). As Wang pointed out, it is implausible on the surface, and furthermore, the Chan­kuo ts'e and Han­shih wai­chuan versions

incorporate in the tale sections of the text of the Hsun Tzu and material found independently in other contexts in the Han Fei Tzu (cf. HFT:4.12b­13a). These sources

give no indication that the material was in any way connected with a correspondence between Hsun K'uang and Huang Hsieh, as the anecdotal versions claim. (See,

however, Knoblock's chronology, wherein the facticity of the tale is accepted [1982­83:30­34, 41].)

14. See the Ju­hsiao, Ch'iang kuo, and Yi ping chapters. Note that the Han Fei Tzu tells us that Hsun K'uang was in Yen about 316 B.C. (HFT:16.3b).

15. The highly idealized "transcript" of Hsun K'uang's debate with Lord Lin­wu in the Yi ping chapter, wherein even Lord Lin­wu cannot help but marvel at the

brilliance of Hsun K'uang's arguments, should alert us to the anecdotal nature of these "historical" audiences. This does not mean that the accounts are not based on

real incidents, but it does require that we treat the material with caution.

16. The Yi ping chapter tells us that Hsun K'uang was in Chao during the reign of King Hsiao­ch'eng (r. 265­245 B.C.). In Ch'iang kuo, we see him in conversation

with Fan Sui, who was Prime Minister of Ch'in from 266 to 257 B.C. In Ju­hsiao, Hsun K'uang addresses King Chao of Ch'in (r. 306­251 B.C.). Note that the

conversation between Hsun K'uang and a Prime Minister of Ch'i in Ch'iang kuo would indicate, if historical, that Hsun K'uang was in Ch'i between 261 and 255

B.C., after Ch'u had captured Hsu­chou but before the seizure of the northern portions of Lu.

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17. Ch'ien Mu's chronology diverges from this (1956:431­34), but see note 12 above on the problems of his model.

18. I know of no certain evidence that it was not customary in Ch'u or elsewhere that non­hereditary magisterial posts be lifetime appointments. However, when we

encounter a case where the incumbent was in office at an age of between seventy­eight and one hundred and three, we may at least suspect that the post could not

have been administratively burdensome and was likely to have either been initially or become substantially honorary.

19. Passages in the Hsun Tzu that portray Hsun K'uang in audience with political leaders of Chao and Ch'in (if accepted as factual) do not indicate ambition for

political responsibilities. Audiences were sought for many reasons other than solicitation of a political post, for example, securing court lodgings and stipends for

oneself and one's followers. The text also portrays Hsun K'uang in audience with political figures in the state of Ch'i, and his persuasions there are clearly part of his

duties as a sinecured retainer. If factual, they would signal no ambition for political duties.

20. See his commentary at HTCC: 19.1.

21. For example, see Liang Ch'i­ch'ao's remarks in WSTK:621.

22. For example, the Hsun Tzu's use of the word "ch'ü" to mean "completely," the word "lung" to mean "exalt" or "the exalted,'' and the word "ch'ic" to mean

"maximize."

23. See Yang 1938.

24. Note that Knoblock has recently devised a chronology of the text based on a theory of single authorship (1982­83:35­46). Although I do not agree with

Knoblock's basic assumptions, he has isolated many datable elements that indicate termini a quo for various chapters of the text.

25. H:15.72 portrays Li Ssu, known from other sources to have studied with Hsun K'uang (e.g., SC:87:2539), in conversation with Hsun K'uang. This suggests that

Ch'en Hsiao, mentioned in a nearby parallel passage (H:15.66), was also a student of Hsun K'uang's.

26. See Kanaya 1951:28.

27. Witness the remark addressed to T'ien P'ien, a Chi­hsia master, in the Ch'i ts'e: "Now you, sir, are given no official duties, but receive a stipend of a thousand

measures and maintain a following of a hundred disciples" (CKT:4.16b­17a). The fact that such a phrase made sense, even if the source is more fiction than fact,

indicates the scale of Chi­hsia followings.

28. The Shih­chi, Liu Hsiang's preface to the Hsun Tzu, and the Feng­su t'ung­yi, all state that Hsun K'uang became the senior master at Chi­hsia. We are also told

by the first two of these sources that he

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"was thrice charged with the wine sacrifices," a phrase Ssu­ma Chen interpreted to mean that during three different terms of tenure, Hsun K'uang was the senior

participant in banquet or other ritual ceremonials (SC:74.2349n5).

29. Extensive sections of the Hsun Tzu text appear in the Li­chi, Ta Tai Li­chi, Han­shih wai­chuan, and Shih­chi. For an interesting, if somewhat overstated,

survey of the influence of Hsun Tzu Ruism on Han Ruist traditions, see the remarks of the Ch'ing commentator Hu Yuan­yi cited in HTCC, K'ao­cheng: 68­70.

30. The most notable exception is the Ch'eng­hsiang chapter, which seens to mention the death of Lord Ch'un­shen in 238 B.C. (H:25.9). The commentator Lu

Wen­chao maintained that this reference to Huang Hsieh was a corruption of the text (HTCC:18.5). Ch'ien Mu agrees, and cites supporting arguments by Liu Shih­

p'ei (1956:433). I do not find their arguments convincing. In any event, we argue elsewhere that the Ch'eng­hsiang chapter was not written by Hsun K'uang,

regardless of this status of the reference to Huang Hsieh.

We might note that the chapters Ju­hsiao, which refers to King Chao of Ch'in (d. 251 B.C.) by his posthumous name, and Yi ping, which refers to King Hsiao­ch'eng

of Chao (d. 245 B.C.) by his posthumous name, were probably put in their present form after Hsun K'uang's final departure from Chi­hsia. As noted above, these

chapters refer to Hsun K'uang by honorific and were obviously composed or at least edited by disciples. No other chapters among the first twenty­six must

necessarily be dated later than 261 B.C.

31. An early separation of Hsun K'uang from the development of the Hsun Tzu text might account, in part, for the fact that despite the enormous influence that the

Hsun Tzu exerted during the early Han (see note 29 above), Hsun K'uang himself is rarely mentioned and passages from the Hsun Tzu cited in other texts are virtually

never linked to his name.

Another factor that bears on this point is the problematical form of the Hsun Tzu prior to the Han. When Liu Hsiang edited the text toward the end of the Western

Han, he wrote: "The texts of Hsun Ch'ing's book [collected in the Imperial Library] which I have edited numbered three hundred and twenty­two chapters. I

compared these and excised duplications amounting to two hundred and ninety chapters, settling upon a text of thirty­two chapters" (HTCC:20.46). Liu Hsiang called

his edited text "The New Book of Sun Ch'ing" (Sun Ch'ing hsin­shu) which indicates that prior to his edition, no completely organized text attributed to Hsun K'uang

(Sun Ch'ing) existed. Judging from his introductory remarks, the essays that comprise the Hsun Tzu text as we have it today probably were originally circulated

independently or in small

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groups. The organization of the extant text, which groups chapters with similar themes, may reflect early, more circumscribed books of "Hsun Tzu's" writings.

Kanaya Osamu has gone so far as to suggest that these subsections of the text reflect the division of Hsun K'uang's school of Ruism into factions with specialized

interests (1951:21­28), a theory that implies that a substantial portion, if not most of the text, springs from the hands of first or second generation disciples, rather

than from Hsun K'uang's own.

32. "Ch'eng­hsiang" means a cadence created by the beat of a pestle. It resembles the modern "hsiang­sheng" chant, which is performed by two people who

alternate lines.

33. The text appears to mention with grief the downfall of Huang Hsieh, which occurred in 238 B.C. See note 30.

34. For a different view of Ch'eng­hsiang, see Tu Kuo­hsiang's essay on the chapter in Tu 1962.

The composition of the Fu chapter is particularly unusual. The group nature of the dialogue in the opening riddle section cannot be doubted. Each riddle is

followed by a confession of puzzlement, such as, "your servant is foolish and does not know the answer, may I ask the King?" And then the "King" or some other

persona replies. The impression that this is a record of group play seems inescapable. Furthermore, the Yi­wen chih records a book of poems in the fu style by

Hsun Tzu, in ten chapters. This suggests that the records of Ruist group play were at one time far more extensive (but for a different explanation of the Yi­wen chih

entry, see Hu Yuan­yi's remarks in HTCC, K'ao­cheng:65).

35. This is not a true paradox: there is neither a logical nor a chemical contradiction here. But it is treated as a paradox in the text. The importance of paradox to the

Hsun Tzu is noted in Akatsuka 1958:13.

36. These include Shen Tao and T'ien P'ien (H:6.8).

37. See Munro 1969:132­33.

38. Note Wang Nien­sun's commentary to Pu kou (HTCC: 2.15); on Chieh pi, see Kanaya 1951:27.

39. For example, in Pu kou, the Taoistic description of the chün­tzu: "Without stepping down from his dwelling the essence of all within the seas is accumulated

within him" (cf. TTC:47), is preceded by the following description of the path to this perfection: "The chün­tzu examines the ways of the later kings (see below), and

[extrapolates so that] he can describe what was prior to the hundred kings as though in casual conversation; he extrapolates from the guiding rules of ritual and

propriety, distinguishes right from wrong . . ." (H:3.36­37). Chieh pi concludes a discussion of perfecting the mind, which is filled with vague and seemingly mystical

language, with a description of the path to

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wisdom as the bounding of wisdom through study—study which "takes the Sage Kings as teacher and their regulations as rule, conforming to their rules and

seeking their guiding categories in order to emulate their persons" (H:21.83). (Note that in the Taoistic Chieh pi, Chuang Tzu is attacked; cf. H:21.22).

The passage from Pu kou alerts us to an important textual side issue, namely, that in resolving arguments with an appeal to authority, the Hsun Tzu frequently

endorses reliance on what it calls the "later kings" (hou­wang). Who these later kings were is disputed. For a review of the literature on the issue, and a defense of

the position that the term refers to the Chou founders, see Eno 1984:458­59.

40. For a discussion of Graham's theories of Yang Chu, see Eno 1984:370­72. As suggested in chapter V, note 41, I would prefer to view the "Yangist" texts as a

sub­corpus of Taoist texts, without any claim of linkage to Yang Chu.

41. See the discussion in Rickett 1965:12­13.

42. This theory is discussed in detail in Kuo 1945:210­32; see also Hou 1957:351­59.

43. Rickett 1965:157­58; Fung 1962:168.

44. See the comparisons adduced in Hou 1957:531­49.

45. Some passages from Nei­yeh ("Inner Tasks") illustrate: "The essence of things is transformed [following Ting et al., see Kuo et al. 1956:781] and becomes life;

born below, it is the five grains; above, it is the ranks of stars; flowing between heaven and earth it is called 'ghosts and spirits'; hidden in the breast it is called 'the

Sage' [KT:16.1a]. . . . The Way has no fixed place; it settles peacefully in a good mind. If the mind is tranquil and the breath regular, the Way settles therein. . . . The

essence of the Way, how can it have thought [see Kuo et al. 1956:784] or sound? Cultivate the mind, quiet the thoughts, and the Way may be reached [KT:16.2a]. . .

. The mean between gorging and starving oneself is called perfect harmony. The vital essence dwells within and knowledge is therein born [KT:16.4b]. . . ." (These

translations make use of Rickett 1965:158­68.)

46. See Rickett 1965:153. These passages are poorly reconciled with the general thrust of argument in these chapters. As with certain sections in the Chieh Lao

("Explication of the Lao Tzu") chapter in the Han Fei Tzu (6.1b­2a), these passages may be viewed as syncretic insertions, either added by the composer of the text

to link together older materials, or directly inserted after the compilation of the text.

47. The notion of suppressing desire does not inherently conflict with interest in li. The Mencius suggests suppression of desire as a self­cultivation device (M:7B.35).

The Hsun Tzu takes a strong position

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that li nurtures or edifies (yang) desire (H:19.1­3), but that desires are innately unexpungeable (e.g., H:22.55­63). A number of its arguments concerning desire

are directed against Sung Chien (H:18.114­22), who, according to some, was an author of the Kuan Tzu texts at issue.

48. An extensive discussion of Tsou Yen and his philosophy appears in Needham 1956:232­44. (Note that major omissions occur in the translation of SC:76.2370

that appears on page 237; the meaning of this important passage is significantly altered.) See also Fung 1931: 200­209; Henderson 1984:31­35.

49. The accuracy of the Shih­chi accounts has been widely questioned. See Ch'ien 1956:439.

50. SC:28:1368­69; 74.2344; Tso Ssu, Wei tu fu (cited in Fung 1931:202); Liu Hsiang, Pieh­lu (cited SC:74.2348n3). The phrase for "five elements" in Tsou Yen's

philosophy seems to have been "wu te," rather than the "wu hsing" that played so great a role in Han cosmology. For an argument asserting that the portrait of Tsou

as an innovator is a Han projection, see Henderson 1984:32­5

51. As Fung Yu­lan notes (1962:439), the Shih­chi groups the biographies of Mencius, Tsou Yen, and Hsun Tzu together, and this in itself may suggest that Tsou

Yen was originally a Ruist who developed his cosmological interests until they overshadowed his early training. The Shih­chi states that, "If [Tsou's doctrines] are

reduced to their fundamentals, they inevitably return to jen, yi, restraint, frugality, and the operation of the relations between ruler and minister, superior and inferior,

and the six familial relationships; it is merely that his beginnings developed without restraint" (SC: 74.2344). The Yen­t'ieh lun also speaks of Tsou as a Ru (2.14b).

52. See, for example, H:17.2940, 21.74­78. See also the discussion in Dubs 1927:64­73.

53. The Tso­chuan's stated views on spiritualism often resemble those of the Hsun Tzu. Certain passages focus on the rationalistic debunking of shamanism and

superstitious omenology, for example, TCHC, Hsi 16:6.2; Hsi 21:6.18­19; Chao 1:20.34­35; Chao 3:20.56; Chao 5:21.41. In all of these instances, the logic of

omenology and shamanism is described as benighted and rationalist arguments for the primacy of human action are offered. These passages can all be characterized as

denigrating action guided by a concern with the supernatural. However, the Tso­chuan, unlike the Hsun Tzu, does not generally deny the existence of spiritual beings

and supernatural forces. Some passages contradict the main anti­spiritualist leanings, for example, Chao 7:21.57­58; Chao 10: 22.20. Others, while not prescribing an

interest in spirits, implicitly acknowledge their existence (Hsi 5:5.31­32), or, in one instance, actually

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recount their appearance while scorning those who would cater to them (Chuang 32:3.93­94).

54. Although most of the Tso­chuan deals with pre­Confucian history, some of its heroic figures are depicted in the narrative in the image of later Ru. The greatest of

these is Tzu­ch'an, Prime Minister of Cheng. Tzuch'an frequently is shown adopting an antisuperstitious stance, but in doing so, he displays a comprehensive grasp of

cosmology, demonology, and the interpretation of dreams (Chao 1:20.28­33; Chao 7:21.61­62), and acknowledges that men, upon dying, may become spirits (Chao

7:21.64­65). The Tso­chuan, therefore, apparently reconciled an interest in cosmology with Ruist humanism by prioritizing the two­human effort is the only practical

path, but in cultivating comprehensive wisdom, the Sage will also learn about the world of spirits. Indeed, Ruist­style Sages, such as Tzu­ch'an, will obtain a deeper

grasp of spirit lore than the spiritualist and so be able to refute superstitious prescriptions issued by spiritualist pretenders to wisdom.

55. On Tsou Yen in Yen, see also SC:34.1558, 74.2345, 80.2427­28. Elsewhere, the Shih­chi traces the origins of diviner­sorcerers to Ch'ang Hung, a native of

Chou who flourished c.500 B.C. (SC:28.1364).

56. On the origins of these cults, see Needham 1974:94­95. On the traditional linkage of them to Tsou Yen, see also Welch 1966:96­97.

57. The cosmologies of diviners and shamans may have portrayed Nature as a purposive, even an ethical force, far different from its role in, say, Taoism. Yet the

ideologies of omenologists and Taoists share the crucial feature of locating value in a nonhuman sphere and searching for human guidance in the manifestations of the

natural world.

58. The dating of these two essays, which appeared as chapters of the Li­chi, a Han text that brought together both Han and pre­Han materials, is disputed. Various

portions of both essays bear close resemblance to the Mencius or to the Hsun Tzu (compare, e.g., M:4A. 13 and CY:20; H:3.26­33 and TH:1,7), and the texts also

show evidence of Taoist influence (they are sometimes classified as Taoist). I believe that the texts are either very late Chou or early Han and postdate both the

Mencius and the Hsun Tzu. My principal reasons for dating the texts in this way are: (1) the fact that the essays are not internally identified with any one Ruist Master

and incorporate the teachings of more than one pre­Ch'in Ruist faction; (2) the style of argument is highly systematic and shows a great interest in metaphysical

speculation (particularly the Chung­yung), a hallmark of Han Ruist texts. These arguments are far from conclusive; however, I have chosen to be guided by them and

to exclude the essays from my discussions of pre­Ch'in Ruism for the sake of simplicity and

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because they represent my own views. For more on the dating of these essays, see Tu 1976:13­15.

59. This is, of course, the same theme I suggest as the primary subject of the Mencius in chapter V. The texts differ radically in their strategies and the resulting tenor

of discussions on li, but their agendas were, I believe, largely identical.

60. In these discussions, we will consider only the first twenty­seven chapters of the Hsun Tzu. The remaining five chapters are generally thought to have been

appended to the text at a later time (WSTK: 621­22). Yang Liang placed them at the end of the text because he considered them largely derivative (HTCC:20.1).

Their philosophical agenda is rather different from the other chapters.

61. I am not using the terms "ontology" and "epistemology" here, in order to avoid inappropriate implied comparisons with Western philosophical traditions.

62. A number of these terms are frequently used throughout the text: words such as "lei" (approximately sixty­five occurances), "liª" (more than 100 occurances),

and "t'ung" (approximately thirty occurances). The character ''pien": [to make] distinctions, itself appears about seventy­five times, not including uses of the cognate

"pienª" as a loan. Others of these terms are used less frequently, but with great emphasis, as in the case of "ts'ao," which plays an important role in the early chapters

of the text.

63. "The True Kings regulated names such that when names were determined realities were distinguished" (H:22.6­7).

64. "Things which are of identical type and essense are perceived by the T'ien­like faculties [i.e., sense organs] identically. . . . The mind, in addition, [has the power

to] understand through verification (cheng chih) . . . . Thus through reliance [on the senses] one is able to [distinguish] sameness and difference" (H:22.16­21).

65. Interpretation of the Hsun Tzu's theory of language has focused on the phrases, "Names have no intrinsic appropriateness" (H:22.25), and, "Names have no

intrinsic reality" (H:22.26), to argue that the Hsun Tzu takes a conventionalist approach to language (see Hansen 1983:81). However, when viewed as a whole, the

Hsun Tzu's theory of language is realist. Although individual words are initially chosen arbitrarily, their consistent use and syntactic relations in language create a

perfect correspondence between the elements and structure of language and the objects of the world and their relations. It is this characteristic of language that allows

the text explicitly to limit its conventionalism: "Names can be intrinsically good: those that are straightforward and simple, without contradiction (fuª) are called good

names" (H:22.27). Implicitly, names may "contradict" reality.

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66. Throughout the chapter, the word "pien": "to make distinctions," is used as a loan for "pienª'': "argument." The loan relationship appears frequently in the text and

might be an intentional indication of the Hsun Tzu's belief that valid argument is a verbal representation of natural distinctions.

In rendering the word "tao" as "Truth" in this instance, I do not adopt Chad Hansen's theory that "Chinese philosophy had no concept of truth" (1985a:492). I

believe that it had the concept, but that it was not articulated as a philosophical object. In Hansen's terms, ideas parallel to what we refer to as "truth" played "a

role in theories," but, they did not become the focus of theories. This is a position of "soft linguistic determinism," and I believe Hansen ultimately returns to this less

categorical claim when he restates his conclusions as "Chinese philosophers did not focus on a distinct notion of semantic truth" (515­16). Hansen argues

brilliantly, but I think that his habitual linkage of the term "truth" to correspondence theories of language might have led him to give inadequate stress to the fact that,

deplorable as analytic thinkers might find it, assertions of truth sometimes really do entail no theory of language. Nevertheless, much of Hansen's model is

persuasive, and I will not be surprised if further argument finds me converted.

67. See also H:1.28, 2.37, 9.47­48.

68. On the pervasive importance of the notion of class distinctions in the text, see Katakura 1978. Katakura illustrates both descriptive and prescriptive dimensions of

the notion.

69. See also H:5.28 and H:11.63, translated above. On the notion that li trains the senses and the mind, see the discussion on "Educating the Sage."

70. Compare TTC:22. The phrase "crooked yet easy to follow" (wang erh shun) carries a sense of "odd yet naturally pleasing." We find no conflict here with the

Ruist adherence to a doctrine of descriptive equality, stressed in Munro 1969. The Hsun Tzu simply maintains that rank differentiations are descriptively necessary to

the socialization of human beings. Rank differentiatons are dictated by organizational needs rather than disparities in innate character.

71. We will tend, in this chapter, to translate "li­yi" as "ritual and propriety." The compound is fundamentally a linkage of explicit conventional rules and a more

abstract ethical notion, close to "right." The linkage is often understood as a way of enlarging the prescriptive range of ritual, allowing individuals to act according to

what seems ethically right even if it is not in absolute accord with convention. This is correct, but as we saw in chapter V, the linkage has a complementary function of

circumscribing the realm of ethical rightness to keep it closely aligned with ritual prescript.

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The Hsun Tzu makes no effort to establish "yi" as a value standard independent of convention. On the contrary, in its most generalized usage as the distinguishing

characteristic of man (H:9.70­71) "yi" is described as an ability to establish and act according to role differentiations. The translation of ''propriety" seems most

apt.

72. See Kanaya's divisions (1951:20).

73. This appears also at H:17.43.

74. To make this even approximate empirical reality, we must assume that by "ch'ün" the text means not mere society, but hierarchical society. This meaning is

suggested by the text's etymological observation that "A 'ruler' is one who is good at good at 'grouping' " (H:9.75), which is a play on the cognate relationship of the

words "chün" and "ch'ün."

75. Cf. H:5.26­28.

76. The doctrine is most elegantly delineated in the Li lun ("Treatise on Li"): "What is the origin of li? People are born with desires. If those desires are not satisfied,

individuals cannot but seek to satisfy them. If people seek satisfaction without rule or limit, boundary or degree, they cannot but conflict. From conflict comes chaos;

from chaos comes poverty. The former kings detested chaos among people, and so fashioned ritual and propriety to create distinctions [among them], to nurture their

desires, to provide for their wants, to ensure that desires would not exhaust [available] resources" (H:19.1­3). On the importance of this doctrine, see Munro

1969:90. This theory and its corollary that "li is nurturance" are discussed in detail in section 4.2.

77. Cf. H:17.48­49, where the role of li in society is likened to the role of signal buoys in a river.

78. This argument constitutes a brilliant response to one of the most powerful doctrinal weapons used by Mohists in their attack on Ruist li.

79. Many portions of the political chapters do, of course, dwell upon matters of politics without direct reference to ritual. Even the most purely political chapters,

however, continually lead their arguments back to issues of ritual social order. Note, for example, H:11.63 (in the Wang pa, or "Kings and Hegemons" chapter) and

H:15.78 (in Yi ping: "Discussions on the Military").

The ritual concerns of the political chapters belie the characterization of the Hsun Tzu as a "legalist" text, a position not uncommon among scholars in the PRC. It

is true that the Hsun Tzu shows some adaptation of Legalist theories, but the influence of Legalism on the text is far less than the influences of Taoism and "Sung­

Yin naturalism." It is also true that the Hsun Tzu shows a persistent interest in "laws" or "rules" (fa), the keynote of Legalism. But for the Hsun Tzu—and this is a

crucial point—fa are always compatible with, and frequently

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an aspect of, li. "The li are the foremost components of law" (H:1.28); see also H:2.48, 4.49­52, 8.59­60, 10.92, 11.63, 12.57, 15.99­100, 23.25.

80. See, for example, Dubs 1927: chapter 6; Lau 1953; Graham 1967.

81. This is usually described as the Hsun Tzu's doctrine that man is, by nature, "evil." Kanaya Osamu has noted that the term "evil" in this context appears only in the

Hsing o chapter, which in style and content differs sharply from the rest of the text (1951:30­31). He argues that Hsun K'uang did not write it, and the word "evil" (o)

would then appear in this sense in no portion of the text that Hsun K'uang may have written. I do not feel, however, that Hsing o conflicts philosophically with the rest

of the text—whose relation to Hsun K'uang is, at any rate, frequently unclear. While I agree that the Hsun Tzu's theory of human nature is best described as holding

that human nature includes nothing intrinsically ethical, rather than as holding that it is evil, I do not hesitate to include Hsing o as part of the main corpus of the text.

82. This does not mean that the desires are eliminated, only that they are controlled. See the criticism of asceticism at H:6.3­4, and the discussion of desires in section

4.2.

83. It is, of course, possible to view all actions of man—who is born of Nature—as being realizations of Nature. This would, however, be a purely descriptive

approach and would not distinguish values among man's actions. The Hsun Tzu clearly wishes to acknowledge value in some human activity. Its method of allowing

this is to draw a sharp line between the components of man's character for which Nature and man are responsible respectively. The line is drawn on the basis of how

skills are acquired: "That in man which cannot be acquired by study or reformed through effort is called 'nature' (hsing). That which is mastered by study or achieved

by effort is called 'art' (wei)" (H:23.12­13). This is a key circumscription of the notion of "innate" and militates against Lau's reconciliation of the Mencius and the

Hsun Tzu through the notion of developmental character (1953).

84. The passage continues with an attack on li (CT:9.11­13). See Graham 1967:222­23. The Hsun Tzu expresses the limited value of the hsing by describing it as

the "unadorned abilities" (ts'ai­p'u), a clear response to Taoist doctrine (H:19.76).

85. Lao Tzu is criticized by the Hsun Tzu as understanding "contraction" (passivity) and not "extension" (purposive activity), with the result that "the exalted and the

humble are not distinguished" (H:17.51­53).

86. One philosopher so attacked is identified by Needham as a founding thinker of the longevity cults that flourished later, during the Han (1974:94).

87. Cf. LSCC:4.5b­6a, which, however, includes Ruist elements.

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88. Compare H:8.108: "Without teacher and rules, man exalts his nature; with them, he exalts acquired [skills]."

89. As Hsing o makes clear, this is, for the Hsun Tzu, not a "natural" but a human process (see note 83).

90. See the discussion of practical totalism in chapter III.

91. Given the scarcity of resources, man's hungers must generally be satisfied at low levels to ensure continuity of satiation. The mechanics of this natural law teaches

man prudence: deferred gratification. Similarly, man learns that by investing his resources properly, rather than consuming them immediately, he can improve his

material rewards. He learns, for example, that by using grain to feed livestock rather than himself, he can, in the end, improve the quality of his diet. These ideas are set

forth at H:4.42­71.

92. This seems to be inconsistent with other passages (e.g., H:22.19); we would expect man to employ the mind (hsinª) here. This formula might point to the

motivating role of desire, as in H:19.1­2.

93. The word "yie" is used in the sense of "restraint" and has been glossed as "ting": "settle,'' by Yü Yueh. Yang Liang noted the variant reading "ningª": "congeal,"

perhaps: "slow down" (HTCC: 15.25).

94. Compare H:8.25­27, emending cheng to chihd, following the Ch'ün shu chih yao version (HTCC:4.10).

95. Compare H:1.44­45: "Study is the study of unifying."

96. Apart from the formal syllabus per se, the cultural forms of ritual serve as an ongoing structure refining society at large. The Li­lun underscores this point in the

theory of li as nurturance (H:19.3­13), which maintains that ritual forms train the senses and sensitize them to the aesthetically good. This creates in society a level of

cultivation at which values other than simple material gratification have become institutionalized.

97. It is this overlap in empirical and ethical principle that prevents liª from developing a scientific dimension in the Hsun Tzu and in later Ruist thought. As Kanaya

points out, to the degree that it is interested in natural phenomena, the Hsun Tzu only looks to Nature to find ethical lessons for man. Empirical observation is ended as

soon as a moral meaning is construed (1970:5­6).

98. See H:2.14, 2.47, 3.17­18, 3.28, 7.21, 11.114. Note the apparent loan of liª for li at 22.45.

99. The meaning of the term "wen­li" seems frequently indistinguishable from ritual itself (cf. H:9.95, 10.108, 19.10, 19.103). In particular, note: "The ways of the

filial son are the pattern­principles of ritual and propriety" (H:23.20); "Its (li's) pattern­principles form [a manifest] insignia (chang)" (H:26.1).

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100. See also H:19.20­21: "In the monthly sacrifice [to one's ancestors] one tastes the great [plain] broth, and eats one's fill of the various delicacies: this is honoring

one's roots [by proffering food] while [putting the food] to personal use. Honoring the root is embellishment (wen); putting this to personal use is principle (liª). When

the two combine into a single pattern (wen) to return to the Great Oneness, it is called the great exaltation [of ritual]" (taking ch'ib as chiª, following Yang Liang rather

than Yü Yueh [HTCC:13.7­8]). This curious passage seems to say that the ceremonial sacrifice, having no supernatural effect, is simply an embellishment of human life

(cf. H:17.39­40), while the entailment of ceremony into practical life (through eating ritual foods), in accord with natural principles (the satisfaction of hunger),

integrates embellishment and practicality into a pattern of entailed ritual activity, which is linked to a transcendental holism (on the Great Oneness, see the conclusion).

Pattern­principles, then, are precisely the ethical transformation of natural processes (such as eating) as they enter the ritual human sphere.

101. See note 83. The rendering of shihb as "reform through effort" is a modification of Kubo's interpretation [HTCC:17.3].

102. On "heaven and earth" (t'ien­ti) see appendix C, note 1.

103. "T'ung" here indicates an integrating intelligibility that gives significance to the realm of ritual.

104. Cf. H:9.81­82, 15.57. "Shen" is also used as descriptive of the human virtues embodied in Sagehood (H:3.27, 3.45, 8.64, 9.62, 21.44). On the role of the term

in the Hsun Tzu, see also Ikeda 1965:19­20.

105. It is obviously beyond the scope of this chapter to illustrate the ways in which the naturalisms we have identified use the idea of T'ien (or t'ien­ti) as Nature in a

normative sense. We can merely indicate a few of these uses. T'ien/Nature as a value source and role model: TTC:9, 73, 77; KT, Hsin­shu 1:219.11­13; Hsin­shu

11:222.10­11; Pai­hsin:224.11­12. T'ien/Nature and man as one in Tao: TTC:39; CT: 4.18. T'ien/Nature transcends and trivializes human values: TTC:5; CT:2.29,

5.53; KT, Paihsin:225.14­15. A purposive T'ien/Nature as a responsive field of human portents: Tsou Yen's philosophy, as reflected in LSCC, Ying­t'ung (also

called Ming lei):13.4 (see Fung 1931:201­202).

106. The former notion would fairly characterize important aspects of Tsou Yen's cosmological naturalism (cf. Fung 1931:201­202). The latter view was

characteristic of late Chou omenology, which was a component of divinistic or shamanistic naturalism.

107. See the analysis of section B in Matsuda 1975:70­71.

108. "Desire" is included in a list of innate affective responses appearing at H:22.19 (but it is missing at 22.3). The classic formula of the "seven

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emotions" (ch'i­ch'ing) which appears in the Li­yun chapter of the Li­chi does include "desire" (LC:7.6b). On the philosophically constructive role of desire in the

Hsun Tzu, see Kanaya 1951a.

109. But the issue is somewhat confused at H:22.3­4, wherein the mind seems to have an innate ability to make choices on behalf of the emotions (excluding desire),

which leads directly to creative artifice.

110. Dubs (1928a: 176) renders the passage thus: "To use what is not of one's kind to nourish one's kind [note: e.g., animal flesh to nourish mankind]—this is what is

meant by the natural nourishing. To act according with one's station is what is called happiness; to act contrary to one's station is called calamity—this is what is meant

by the natural government."

111. This is the suggestion of Kodama 1972:52, following Tsukada Omine *. Neither phrase has a stated subject, and, while this might imply a verb­subject, it is

equally likely in such cases that the subject of the antecedent sentence is implied. Note that all of the preceding sentences in the passage have stated subjects that differ

from the preceding phrase. They cannot, then, be used to refute the notion that the elision of the subject indicates, in this instance, the extension of one subject over

several phrases.

112. The interpretation dates from Yang Liang (HTCC: 11.25). Kodama's unique analysis of this passage rests on a departure from this tradition. He takes "ts'aiª" as

a loan for "ts'aib": "abilities.'' He argues that man's innate abilities are what he uses to nurture, or transform, his mind and faculties. He paraphrases thus: "Man's motor

abilities are not of the same class as his T'ien­like faculties, but they nurture the T'ien­like faculties; his cognitive abilities are not of the same class as the T'ien­like ruler,

but they nurture the T'ien­like ruler. Thus motor and cognitive abilities are called the T'ien­like nurturance" (1972:57). While I agree with Kodama's scepticism of

traditional interpretations, I find his own solutions confusing, both grammatically and philosophically (see Eno 1984:472n112).

113. "The Sage molds (ts'aic) things, he is not directed by things" (KT, Hsin shu II:13.5a). Here the notion of molding things clearly goes beyond agricultural

subsistence.

114. Cf. H:10.1: "The various things of the world inhabit the same spatial realm but possess different bodies; they have no innate appropriateness but have uses for

man."

115. Note that Watson misses this sense of "yang," and his translation of the Li lun chapter is consequently flawed. The notion of refining the senses is discussed also

at H:11.46­49.

116. Recall that man's distinguishing characteristic is the ability to make distinctions (pien), both cognitive—through recognition of sameness

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and difference—and social, by establishing proprieties of social roles (H:5.24­28, 9.69­74).

117. Compare LSCC:1.4a, which uses a similar formula, limiting the reference to the body and its innate nature.

118. We are moving here directly from section B to section E. The functions of the intervening sections may be summarized as follows: Section C divides T'ien into the

realms of sky, earth, seasons, and yin­yang, and cautions that inquiry into these should not go beyond those manifest regularities that, as with natural objects, can be

manipulated by man for his own purposes: to keep time, to plan agriculture, and so forth. The ideal man does not concern himself with these properties of Nature; his

mind is focused on the human social sphere: "Functionaries will keep track of T'ien; you must keep to the Way" (H:17.18). Section D expands upon the proposition

set forth early in the "Treatise" that political order depends upon the function of human government, and is not determined by nonpurposive T'ien. Its dominant images

are agricultural and calendrical, and the section should be viewed as a recapitulation of the earlier characterization of bad rule: "Though the seasons revolve as they do

in ordered time, disaster and devastation arise unlike in ordered times'' (H:17.5).

119. The statement appears at H:17.7.

120. A similar notion appears in the "Sung­Yin" chapters of the Kuan Tzu, for example, KT:13.5a, 16.2a.

121. The equivalence is demonstrated at H:25.13,26.6. See appendix C, note 1.

122. The insertion follows citations in the Wen hsuan and the Cheng­ming chapter of the Hsun Tzu (see Yü Yueh's commentary in HTCC:11:28, followed by all

subsequent annotators).

123. See also H:6.31.

124. The text's only assessment of Hsun K'uang's life appears at the end of the final Yao wen chapter (demonstrably a post­Ch'in addition), at H:32.27­37. He is

there judged a political failure who was defeated because he "did not encounter his [proper] time," precisely in the mold of Confucius and Mencius.

125. See the discussion on the nature of the text.

126. Commentators have followed Yü Yueh's incorrect gloss of "chieh" as "what is suitable" (HTCC:11.28). Yang and Liu T'ai­kung correctly gloss it as "fate."

Watson follows Yang but fails to make the point of the passage clear.

127. The remainder of the "Treatise" concentrates on two main themes: the nonpurposive character of Nature and the ethical irrelevance of natural phenomena, and

the ethical centrality of li. Sections G, H, and I (H:17.29­38) attribute mechanistic natural causes to phenomena widely

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interpreted by shamanistic and divinistic schools as ethical omens, and maintain that the true locus of ethical omens is the sphere of social phenomena. The text

prescribes the unceasing cultivation of ritual social order. Section J (H:17.38­40) is remarkable in its explicit detachment of spiritualism from the ritual realm. Ritual

ceremonies that take the form of spiritualist worship—in this case the great sacrifice for rain—are redefined as "embellishments" (wen) of social life. Sections K

and M (H:17.40­44, 46­50) are straightforward exaltations of li as the perfection of human action and as the guiding light of social order. The intervening Section

L (H:17.44­46) attacks Taoist quietisitic attitudes toward T'ien­as­Nature in favor of an activist policy of exploiting Nature for human use. Finally, section N

(H:17.50­54) attacks various philosophies as one­sided. It closely resembles portions of the Chieh pi chapter (H:21.21­24), and seems to have little to do with

the rest of the "Treatise."

128. Ikeda notes the following passages: H:3.16, 4.21, 4.25, 5.18, 16.7, 18.69, 19.15, 19.114, 28.33. In almost every instance, with the possible exception of 3.16,

I think T'ien is invoked as either a rhetorical flourish or, in the cases of 19.15, and 19.114, in the context of traditional religious explanations for sacrificial ritual. The

one anomoly is 28.33, and there we have stepped outside the core chapters of the text.

129. On the reading of "six arts" for liu erh, see HTCC:19.24.

Conclusion

1. Relevant passages include A:1.3, 5.5, 11.23; M:3B.9, 7B.26; H:2.29­31.

2. Michael Oakeshott has argued to a similar conclusion from a different starting point. His basic claim is that propositions about skilled conduct (rules) can have no

meaning for individuals unless the individual already has had some degree of practice in the skilled conduct in question at some level, no matter how rudimentary.

Rules, then, are merely guidelines for refining skills already acquired through prior practices, observation, and trial and error (1962:90).

3. Hall and Ames have suggested several notions that bear directly on these points and relate them to a model of Ruist metaphysics derived from the Analects but

consistent with all early Ruist texts. They picture the metaphysics implied in the Analects as involving a notion of the universe as a web analogous to a hologram, in

which every part "reflects or contains its whole in some adumbrated sense" (1987:237­38). Within this cosmos, T'ien "is the source of meaningfulness," which

"encompasses the traditional past as the cumulated products of human activity'' (248). The Sage grasps this universe through "an aesthetic understanding, an ars

contextualis, in which the correlativity of 'part'

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and 'whole' .. permits the mutual interdependence of all things to be assessed in terms of particular contexts defined by social roles and functions" (248). Focusing

on the Ruist interest in music and dance, Hall and Ames characterize this Sage as a "virtuoso," his action in the context of the holistic universe being analogous to

the performance of a musical artist improvising within the parameters of a configured musical form (275­83; the music analogy is one that has been employed

frequently by Fingarette). These ideas are clearly compatible with the main themes of this study, although we would anchor any such metaphysical portrait upon the

ground of a history of sectarian experience with li as the source and context of meaning. The metaphysics of the Analects is crude at best; it is its ritual foundation

that is fully articulated, T'ien serving as a rhetorical vehicle for celebrating the world perceived through a ritual habitus.

The relation of these ideas to the synthetic nature of Ruism can be clarified if we view them through an extension of Hall and Ames' notion of a Ruist "ontology of

events" (1984:15). We saw in chapter VI how the Hsun Tzu, when embarked on a project of developing a fully articulated portrait of the world of things, made

an unexpected leap from what appeared at first to be a taxonomy of entities distinguished by characteristics of sameness and difference to a picture of the world as

an array of situations each perceived by the Sage in relation to the tao. An ontology of atomic entities possessing substance and attributes has little appeal to the

enterprise of Ruist philosophy, and while the analytic thrust of later Mohism might have prodded Ruists such as Hsun Tzu to attempt analytic inventories of the

furniture of the world, the notion of things as components of norm­laden contexts seems to have been a stronger thrust. In the Ta­hsueh, a work that we have

placed just beyond our main corpus of pre­Ch'in Ruist texts, we are told; "Things have roots and branches; affairs end and begin again (shih yu chung­shih). To

know the sequential succession of things is to be near the Tao" (TH:1). The key term here is "chung­shih," and our rendering of it departs from the usual gloss of

''beginning and end." That is a possible meaning, but the term may also be used to denote unceasing continuity, as it frequently does in the Yi­ching commentaries

(e.g., "Kuei­mei" [54], T'uan commentary: "The marriage of maidens is the perpetuating (chung­shih) of human beings." Cf. also "Ku" [18], T'uan: "To end and

then again begin is the motion of T'ien") and Han texts, such as the Ch'un­ch'iu fan­lu (e.g., Yin­yang chung­shih, 12.1a). An instance of the same term in the

Chung­yung suggests this latter meaning. The text reads, "It is ethical completion (ch'engª) that leads things to end and then begin again (wu chih chung­shih

yeh); without it there would be no things. Thus, the chün­tzu takes extending ethical completion as of greatest value. . . . Thus, he applies

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[his virtue] with timely appropriateness" (CY:25; reading ch'eng­chih as denoting an objectless transitive form of the stative verb ch'engª). In the Ta­hsueh and

Chung­yung passages, the universe is portrayed as a field in a perpetual state of change, where objects have no fixed individuating boundaries and events have no

natural boundaries in time; it is a universe of situations unceasingly emerging into new configurations. The Sage is pictured as guiding the dynamic flux of events in

this universe. Such a world is simply not subject to analytic study except as a rough heuristic device; it will not hold still. It is a universe of emergent situations

rather than objects. Foundational knowledge of it cannot be gained though verbal analysis; to know such a universe is to master it through skills.

4. In the text, these phrases are part of an argument against phrenology. Their original context in a passage of little philosophical interest has led commentators to

overlook their importance.

5. On the relation between practical totalism and the closed model of wisdom, see chapter III.

6. This difficult passage appears with variants in the Shih­chi (23.1170) and Ta Tai li­chi (Li san pen:2.11a). I have read "t'o" as "sparse," following Ssu­ma Chen.

The reading of "hsiaoª" as "confines" is drawn from the Shuo­wen gloss:''a wooden jail" (SWCTKL:6A.2611a).

7. A:2.16 can be interpreted in this sense as, "Attacking [matters] from different starting points is harmful" (see Tai Chen's commentary in Ch'eng 1965:92). A:10.6

may also reflect this sort of attitude when it enjoins us not to speak while eating or when lying down to sleep.

8. I have interpreted the phrase "pi yu shih yen" in light of the Hsun Tzu's description of complete integrity as "wu t'a shih yen": "There is no other matter

there" (H:3.27).

9. The same idea is expressed, in the closing lines of M:6A.8: "'Grasp it and it is saved, loose it and it is lost; if it comes and goes erratically, none will know where it

resides': is this not a description of the mind?"

10. The idea of focus is expressed in M:2A.2 by the term "yic." The passage in question is Mencius' response to a request that he explain two statements: "Wherever

one's dispositions go, one's energy will follow," and "Keep hold of your dispositions; do not dissipate your energy." Mencius explains the two in turn: "When the

dispositions are focused they move the energy" (hence dispositions lead energy); "When energy is focused it moves the dispositions" (thus one must maintain the

control of energy by the dispositions, or the focus of the energy will move the mind ungoverned). Note that Riegel follows Chao Ch'i in taking "yic" as a loan word

meaning "blocked" (1979:442).

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11. See also H:21.48­49: "When the mind is branched it has no comprehension; when it wavers it is not concentrated; when it is divided it is perplexed. . . . Hence the

wise choose the One and focus upon it."

12. Note also A:5.9, 7.8.

13. For an analysis of this process of extending moral motivation, see Nivison 1979.

14. Descriptively, an extension of one's moral impulses, for Mencius, entails the same actions as following jen and yi (M:2A.6, 7A.15, 7B.31).

15. On the role of "type" (lei) in the Mencius, see Nivison 1979:424­25.

16. Note A:10.20­21, where Tzu­lu bows to a flock of birds because it exemplifies the principle of "timeliness."

17. The idea that the Sage, as a source of moral law, is able to "weigh" (ch'üan) all relevant contingencies before acting (much as the utilitarian's ideal ethical calculator

might) may be prefigured in the Analects (9.30), and is a minor but significant idea in the Mencius (4B.18, 7A.26). The ability to weigh contingencies frees the Sage

from reliance on rules, which can only approximate correct principles. The locus classicus for the doctrine of "weighing" is Kung­yang chuan, Huan 11:5.6.

18. See chapter III, note 21.

The role of "responding to changes" (ying pien) is an important one in the Hsun Tzu. It is one­half of a dynamic dialectic that pictures the action of the Sage in

society. The other part is the Sage's power to "transform" (hua) others. The dialectic of ''respond­transform" (pien­hua) is a detailed model of the linkage of inner

self­cultivation and outer worldly power of the Sage. The following passage pictures this linkage (I have reversed the order of the two sequential series to bring out

the meaning as I interpret it):

If one practices right action with a mind of integrity, order will appear; order will bring comprehension; comprehending, one can respond. If one preserves jen with a mind of

integrity it will become manifest; manifest, it will gain spirit­power (shen); with spirit­power one can transform. When response and transformation arise in turn, this is called the

virtue of T'ien (H:3.27­28).

Compare M:7A. 13; CY:25.

19. Interestingly, portraits of exemplary figures in the Taoist text Chuang Tzu depict approaches and experiences very similar to those we are describing for Ruism

here. The best­known example would be the tale of Cook Ting, the butcher whose dance­like carving technique is the central theme of the Yang sheng chu chapter

(CT:3.2­12). The portrait of Ting's extraordinary skill, which he characterizes as "tao," is prefaced by an attack on the limits of fact knowledge very similar to that

encountered in the Hsun Tzu (H:21.78­80, discussed in chapter VI,

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"Educating the Sage"). Other instances where the Chuang Tzu links skill mastery to the tao appear in the Ta­sheng chapter, and include the tales of the swimmer

(19.49­54) and the cicada­catching hunchback (19.17­21). A. C. Graham has noted this linkage in his discussion of the role of "responsive awareness" in the

Chuang Tzu, a phrase that seems to echo the Ruist idea of response to change (1983:11). The variety of skill systems that the Chuang Tzu describes in this way

suggests that the goal of grasping "the Tao" might have been attainable through a plurality of mastered skill systems, a notion that fits in well with Chad Hansen's

idea that the Chuang Tzu essentially endorses a plurality of ''taos" (1983a:46­51). This resonance between the Chuang Tzu and Ruist texts suggests that the two

schools, customarily pictured as antagonists, might have been allied in endorsing synthetic rather than analytic methodology (this despite the fact that the Chuang

Tzu is often relentlessly analytic). If this were so, the fundamental nature of their dispute would arise from the Ruist claim that history, ordained by T'ien, has

evolved a single skill system exclusively legitimate for attaining the totalistic goal of Sagehood: li. As the Hsun Tzu states: "The world possesses only one tao; the

Sage does not have two minds" (H:21.1). Admittedly, neither the historical authoritarianism of Ruism nor the radical relativism of the Chuang Tzu provides a fully

satisfactory strategy for synthetic philosophy.

20. Csikszentmihalyi 1975:38­41.

21. Csikszentmihalyi 1975:67, 192.

22. Csikszentmihalyi and Bennett 1971:56.

23. Csikszentmihalyi 1975:4445,191.

24. Csikszentmihalyi 1975:87.

25. Csikszentmihalyi 1975:37, 44, 81, 86.

26. Csikszentmihalyi 1975:39, 44.

27. Note also that intellectual skills are not excluded (Csikszentmihalyi 1975:35). Mastering texts and doctrine could also have generated similar, if less ecstatic

experiences. The Ch'eng­hsiang and Fu chapters of the Hsun Tzu, as interpreted in chapter VI, section 1, might be evidence of deep aesthetic pleasure associated

with mastering elaborating doctrine.

28. In her survey of dance viewed through an anthropological perspective, Anya Royce analyzes dance meaning in terms of the various aspects through which dance

communicates to an audience (1977:192­211). But it may be well to consider dimensions of meaning from the performer's perspective as well, and this seems to be

what the Hsun Tzu has done in this passage. Susanne Langer makes a sharp distinction between the sense of the word "meaning" in the context of verbal speech and

in the context of musical arts, preferring the term "import" in the latter case (1953:31­32).

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29. I have not attempted to introduce into this study the broad literature on dance in its various aesthetic and ritual modes. For one cross­cultural study of the

structures and rewards of dance, see Hanna 1979, particularly descriptions of its noninstrumental satisfactions (132).

Appendix A

1. Creel and Shima are by no means the only scholars to develop theories concerning the origins of the term "t'ien." In my view, however, their theories represent the

two most plausible current options. For a brief survey of general theories concerning the origins of the term, see Miura 1975:39.

2. A full analysis of the background of the term "t'ien" would require an investigation of the origins of the term most commonly employed to denote "high god" in

Shang oracle texts: "ti" This involves greater detail than would be appropriate here. For such an analysis, see Eno 1984:47­66.

3. Tu Erh­wei has offered a polemical refutation of this theory (Tu 1959:1­6) but in my view fails to offer convincing arguments. His own theory that the original

meaning of "t'ien" is "bright" is based on evidence at least as superficial as Creel's (30­32).

4. Ping­ti Ho, a critic of Creel, has pointed out Creel's reliance on an argument from silence (1975:329­30). Ho is correct in noting the weakness inherent in such an

approach, but his own claims that T'ien was a Shang concept are based on arguments considerably weaker (see Keightley 1977:403404). The plausibility of Creel's

theory has been considerably increased by the recent discovery of the Ho tsun inscription, which demonstrates unquestionably for the first time that "t'ien" was used

in the sense of a deity during the first years of the Chou (WW 1976:1.60­66; Fong 1980:198, 2034). However, recently excavated oracle texts that appear to be

products of the preconquest Chou polity seem to indicate close religious links between the Shang and Chou peoples, which would argue against the likelihood of

distinct "tribal gods" (WW 1979:10.3843).

5. See S:28b­29d. There are examples where "ta" apparently functions as a name, and these could conceivably be glossed instead "a big man" (e.g. Chui­ho:211;

S:29a). The fact that "ta" does not seem to mean ''big man" in the oracle texts is not, of course, conclusive proof that it never had that meaning. Such a meaning

would probably be hard to isolate in most texts.

6. Creel argues that the meaning "great man" is evident in the words "wang" (king) and "wei" (rank), the graphs of which he believes to be derived from "ta"

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by the addition of a horizontal line below, they would presumably be identical, but they are not. In fact, Creel's interpretation of "wang" is defective here (the

explanation of the graph is still a matter of doubt); the form is not graphemically related to "ta." "Wei" and ''ta" do appear to be related graphemically, but they are

not related phonetically, and I do not think you can argue very far on a purely graphemic relation.

7. See also Shima 1958:213­15.

8. The difficulty with the texts is that we must assume either that the father was referred to by a cyclical sign name while alive, or called by his title while dead. The

latter is perhaps more likely. These two inscriptions might be related to a large group of other inscriptions bearing on the ruling house of a state called Luª, which

rebelled against the Chou during the early years of that dynasty (see the Ta­pao kuei inscription). If so, we should note that the Lu Po Chung kuei inscription refers

to the caster's father as "King Li," indicating that this state might have retained pretentions to independent sovereignty, and this could bear upon the use of the honorific

"ta tzu" during Shang times.

9. On "ti" as a Shang term denoting a collection of deities, see Eno 1984:58­9. On the nature of the ti­sacrifice, see ibid., 60­65.

10. This is by no means easy to do. Certain criteria are obvious: divinations about sacrifices to be performed on a ting­day are probably to ting­name ancestors;

inscriptions where can be ruled out (but might provide semantic clues). Even so, I am able to determine with confidence whether inscriptions apply either way in

less than one­third of the cases. And of these, few seem necessarily to represent a nonancestral deity. See Shima 1958:178­80 on this problem.

11. The objects of the sacrifice include the kings from Wu­ting through Wen­wu­ting, and the female ancestor Mu­kuei (S:286a, 534c­d, 535c­d, 536a­537c,

553b). The objects of the ti­sacrifice include the nature deities River, Mountain, and Wind, as well as the ancestral or cultural gods Ch'i (?), Wang­hai, Shang­chia,

and Hsia­yi (S:158d­159c). There are, in addition, several figures whose status is unclear to me (see Eno 1984:111n29).

12. For example, does not bestow or interfere with crops, bestow aid, or influence the king's person, all functions associated with the term "ti" in the oracle texts.

Listing sacrifices offered to is difficult because of the problems discussed in note 10, but a broad range of possibilities appear (S:286­88), and if Shima is correct in

taking as a nonancestral deity at all, assigning many of these sacrifices to it would surely be necessary.

13. Despite the fact that we cannot confirm Shima's claim that denoted a ti­sacrifice identical with that represented by the graph in the Shang texts, it possibly

could have denoted a related but distict type

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of ti­sacrifice, denoted in Chou bronze inscriptions by the graph . On the distinction between these two species of ti­sacrifice (the former offered to high gods,

the latter to the worshipper's father), see Eno 1984:60­64, 75­76.

14. Pu­tz'u:245; Hsu­pien:2.16.3; Yi­ts'un:570; (S:287b).

15. Hsu­ts'un:1.295 (S:17a) reads . ch'iang are offered but we do not know to how many ancestors.

16. Shima believes that the element as a semantic gloss of the ''chuan­chu" type (using that term according to the theory developed in Lung 1972:10743).

17. These inscriptions appear at S:356b, and they are not easy to understand. Yi­ts'un:153 reads: "Divined: the rain is harmed, pray to [at ?] the

River."

18. Especially Ch'ing­hua:3; Yi­ts'un:675; Ming:387.

19. See Ch'en 1955­56:2.117. Note also the recently excavated Kung­ch'en kuei (WW 1976:5.28­29) and Fu yü (KK 1977:1.71­72), especially the latter.

20. See CS:14.4239­51; Shima 1958:175­77.

21. The meaning of "tsung" is not in doubt, but another sacrifice term appears parallel to "tsung" in texts of this format; it is for which the proper transcription is

disputed (CS:2.269­75, suppl. 4431­32). Because it functions precisely as does "tsung," we will treat it as if it were an alternate shrine location, without effect on the

general argument.

22. This form is relatively rare; I count six examples (S:536d, 537b­c). Several examples of the graph in parallel position can be found at S:536c, 537b.

23. These examples are numerous (S:534­37).

24. See S:536d, 537b­c.

25. The same relation holds between can substitute for "tsung" but never for .

26. The gloss is "p'ing" used generally in the sense of "peace," especially in the Tso­chuan.

27. Several other members of this family carry a sense of "flat" or "even." *T'ieng/t'ing is defined as "even argument" (3A.980a).

28. Reading "to receive/to give," here in the sense of accepting the ritual formulas of King Wu. For other translations, see Fong 1980:198; Carson 1978­79:41.

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29. Here reading "yu chueh" literally, with an extended sense of "render service [to the state]." See similar expressions in the Lu Po Chung kuei and Mao Kung

ting inscriptions.

30. I am inclined to think that this actually might be a concrete description of the king pouring a libation over the altar. The word "te" is here written , a cognate of

"te"(SWCTKL: 12B.5714a).

31. See commentaries of T'ang Lan and Ma Ch'eng­yuan in WW 1976:1.60,65.

32. T'ang and Ma read "ku" : "bathe" would be more appropriate.

33. See GSR: #361. Many struggles with the cognate : to swallow," have failed to force it to yield significance.

34. The word plays a major role in the Chuang Tzu, where it is sometimes conceived as a reality we return to after death (e.g., Ta tsung shih:6.64). It is a very

common word in Taoist texts, but remarkably, it is entirely absent from early Ruist texts. Where Taoist texts tend to use the word in the sense of "real" or "true," and

make a return to the "real" a goal of self­cultivation, Ruists tend to use the word , with which we associated T'ien in the last section. Note that the form of "chen"

which appears in the Chen Po yen has an added "ting" element (CWKL:8.159).

35. The element would be a semanteme here if it were, in fact, pronounced as was "shen," which would rule out a phonetic function. The Shuo­wen takes it as a

semanteme.

36. See the comments of Chu Fang­p'u in CWKL:8.161­62. Chu lays out the loan relationship in detail. Note that Tuan Yü­ts'ai suggests a loan relationship between

t'ien : "to get drunk" (SWCTKL:4B.1784b), which might suggest a handy way of reaching T'ien short of self­immolation.

37. Interestingly, the word *d'ieng/t'ing . The t'ing may have been a

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temple court built around an altar. The Ho tsun phrase might be evidence of this.

38. References to this appear in four early texts: MT, Chieh­tsang:6.15a; H, Ta­lueh:27.63; LSCC, Yi­shang:14.11b; Lieh Tzu,T'ang­wen:1.100. Some

archaeological evidence for this custom may have been found (Chang 1986:385).

39. The term is "teng­ko" mentioned in the Mo Tzu and Lieh Tzu texts cited in note 38.

40. Many graphs in the oracle texts seem to suggest such a rite by their graphemic form alone (S:176­77). The two most generally interpreted in this way are as

"burn at the stake'' (Serruys 1974:47: see also Shima 1958: 207­8). For evidence that this custom was at least well known during the Chou, see TC, Hsi 21:6.18­19.

Appendix B

1. In this appendix, the Chinese term denoting the Ruist school, "ju," will be transcribed in its usual Wade­Giles form. Our anglicized terms Ruism, Ruist, and Ru will

be rendered consistent with the main text.

2. On the possible relationship between the words "shu" and "ju," see Jao 1954:116; Chow 1979:18­19.

3. Among those adopting or modifying Chang's portrait of pre­Confucian Ru have been Hu Shih (1934:1­5), Jao Tsung­yi (1954:112­15), Hou Wai­lu (1957:36­39),

Joseph Needham (1956:2.3), and Frederick Mote (1971:30­33).

4. The narratives of the Tso­chuan seem to me the primary basis for the impression that Ru existed prior to Confucius' time. The Tso­chuan is, for the most part, a

history of pre­Confucian China, yet many of the speeches, judgments, and prophecies uttered by the characters in its narrative are permeated with Ruist (Confucian)

political and ethical ideas. This tends to give the impression that Confucius was simply embellishing a traditional school of thought when he passed on his teachings and

leads to the assumption that the Ru school antedates Confucius. However, it is far more likely that the Ruist content of the Tso­chuan narrative reflects the interests of

the authors rather than the ideas of the historical actors of the narrative. The overall outlook of the text is clearly Ruist, as we can see from its great concern with li, its

ethical vocabulary, and the fact that commentary attributed to Confucius is occasionally interjected. The text was certainly authored by

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Ruists, most likely beginning sometime early in the fourth century B.C. (on the date, see Karlgren 1926; Hsu 1965:184­85; Matsumoto 1966:326­32; Wheatley

1971:154). These Ruists apparently elaborated basic historical annals—the Spring and Autumn Annals of Lu among them—and created a prescriptive text of

great philosophical and literary value, which projected their own ideas into the speech of historical figures. Confusing the later Ruist outlook with the early historical

setting is erroneous (Tsuda 1935:307­84; Creel 1970:475­77).

5. We might add that there seem to be no instances of possible loan substitutions for the word "ju" that could alter this picture.

6. There are, indeed, texts that suggest that there was an established group of Ru, prior to Confucius' time, but these texts cannot be dated with certainty prior to the

Han period. Chief among them is the Chou li, a text of uncertain origins that came to light late in the first century B.C. and was edited by the court bibliographer Liu

Hsin (see Jao 1954:114­15). The Chou li, which represents itself as an administrative plan of government devised by the Duke of Chou in the eleventh century B.C.,

refers to Ru as teachers who guide the people through propagation of the proper tao, usually interpreted as referring to the "six arts" of ritual, music, archery,

charioteering, writing, and figures (Jao 1954:114). While the date of the Chou­li remains uncertain, only the most optimistic interpreters would suggest that it could

predate the mid­Warring States period (WSTK:316­27; Creel 1970:478­80), a time when the function of Confucian Ru as tutors would already be well­established.

The detail and systematic nature of the text makes it far more likely that it was the product of the early Han, the period in which Confucians would find it most

necessary to develop detailed administrative blueprints suitable for the style of centralized government first imposed during the Ch'in. (Judging by a rough count of the

first of the book's six sections, which lists more than 3,500 members in that portion of the royal bureacracy, the text was prepared with a rather sizable administrative

unit in mind.) Although the authors of the text might have been well versed in available knowledge about early Chou society, the text is best viewed as a late

idealization, reflecting contemporary Ruist values rather than pre­Confucian fact.

7. The interpretation of "ju" as meaning "weak" is supported by the meanings of cognate words: "ju" "timid." Jao Tsung­yi, in an argument heavily reliant on the

notion that the term "jou" must be consistent with exalted Ruist values, departed from the mainstream in glossing "jou" by the verbal sense of "to comfort" (1954:111­

14).

8. The most sustained refutation of Hu's central thesis was developed by Ch'ien Mu (1954).

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9. Liu's central theory involves a particularly fanciful interpretation of A:6.13 (see Shirakawa 1972:70).

10. One alternate method that has been attempted with limited success is simple graphemic character analysis. Chang Ping­lin, who believed that the early Ru were

meteorologists (on the basis, most directly, of CT: 21.40), made much of the "rain" ( as a picture of a shaved shaman performing a rain dance, and he connects his

interpretation with his theory that Confucius was the son of a sorceress (1972:71­74).

11. The word "chu­ju" could denote either dwarf dancers (e.g., LC:11.18b; SC:47.1915) or simply dwarfs (e.g., LC:4.17b; KY:10.24a­25a). (These latter

examples undercut a theory proposed by Ch'en Ch'i­yu that held that "chu­ju" did not denote a dwarf but a "master of alien music" of any stature [HFTCS:155n7].)

"Chu­ju" was often used as a pejorative term (TC, Hsiang 4:14.28). Marcel Granet had an interesting but highly speculative theory about these dancers. He held that

they were ritual representatives of their lord, and, upon their lord's death, were interred with him (1926:179­80, 213­25).

12. I am grateful to A. C. Graham for alerting me to this. "Ju" could, of course, have been borrowed in the sense of the entire binome and applied as a satirical name

for Ruists even though it originally made no semantic contribution, but a proof of so unlikely a possibility would be too burdensome to consider.

13. Kuang yun:1.34: "'Nou' ; the name of a beast. Like a fox but with wings like fish fins. When it appears, there is fear in the state."

14. E.g., might have retained a semantic role throughout.

15. The association of hunchbacks and Ru has an interesting echo in the legend that the Duke of Chou, "patron saint" of Ruists, was deformed, with a twisted foot or

back (SWCTKL:8A.3608b; see also H:5.5).

16. Evidence for this linkage can be found in the Poetry (220/3­4), where drunken guests are described as "lü wu" glossed by the "Mao Commentary" as

"repeatedly dancing," but cogently rendered "crook­

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edly dancing," drawing on the attested loans of "lou" which, as we saw above, appear to have been cognate with ''ju" (for evidence of such loans, see

KYYS:66.11a). A less pejorative use of the phrase "lü wu" appears in a work by the poet Tso Ssu of the third century A.D.: "With flowing sleeves, all arched

they dance (lü wu), winglike as if flying" (WH, Shu­tu fu:61).

17. Among the vessels that employ such a loan are: Ta k'o ting (Ta­hsi: 3.121), Wei ting [II (WW 1976:5.28); Chin Kung chung (Ta­hsi:3.250). Many other

vessels attest to the interchabgeability of "jou" and "nao" as phonetic elements.

18. Some commentators regard the character for "mother" as an error (see SWCTKL:2326b, 2327b, for the comments of Tuan Yü­ts'ai and Ch'en Li).

19. The Chi­yun offers the following alternative graphs for "nao": see Ikeda 1955:72­73. Karlgren likewise distinguishes the two groups in GSR.)

20. Ikeda's argument is that "yu," in the sense of "dancer," employs a simplified form of an original graph ; phonetic group.

21. The graph "nao" the Shih­chi version of the passage gives the usual graph (Yueh­shu:1222).

22. The facticity of the Shih­chi account is not, of course, at issue here. Other versions appear in the Kung­yang and Ku­liang commentaries.

23. Compare "jou" , which makes its root meaning clear (SWC7KL:4390b).

24. Much of this analysis was stimulated by Ikeda's article (1955). Ikeda, as with many other superior Japanese sinologists, approaches ancient Chinese texts in a

spirit resonant of classical anthropology. Like many French sinologists, these interpreters seek out the irrational elements that lay at the basis of coherent functional

systems—the bricolage of ancient thought, to use Levi­Strauss's term. This is not the approach that American sinologists tend to take, and I confess to feeling rather

uncomfortable with a theory that draws so heavily on such material. Our Ruist subjects appear to be less squeamish about their connections with murky traditions of

religious belief.

25. It is not that such loan links are entirely absent, but those which I have found so far are extremely obscure and generally tenuous. They add no strength to the

theory as now formulated.

26. A more elaborate version appears in the Kao­yao mo (2.12). In the commentary to the Kuo­yü by the third century A.D. scholar Wei Chao,

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it is recorded that the "k'uei" is a beast with an ape's body and a human head (KY, Lu­yü II:5.8b­9a).

Appendix C

1. At the outset, we should note an important distinction in usage bearing heavily on our translation. The usage in question centers on the linkage of the words "t'ien"

and "tiª": "earth," in the Hsun Tzu.

"T'ien" is sometimes used alone to denote the processes of the material world holistically conceived, much as we use "Nature." For example, in the phrase, "T'ien

can give birth to things; it cannot make distinctions among things" (H:19.78), ''T'ien" would be well translated as "Nature," rhetorically personifying the magnificent

but nonpurposive order of the physical world. Similarly, when the text characterizes man's innate qualities as "the repository of T'ien (t'ien chih chiu)" (H:22.63;

23.11), it clearly means to denote by T'ien a notion of non­normative creativity. In the "Treatise," this is a common usage, and "Nature" is frequently an apt

translation. In our rendering of the text, however, we will leave the word untranslated when used in this sense.

Nature is also denoted in the text by the composite word "t'ien­ti": "heaven and earth." For example, the phrase: "Heaven and earth give birth to the chün­tzu,

and the chün­tzu orders heaven and earth" (H:9.65) employs this term. I interpret this term to be functionally equivalent to T'ien in the sense of Nature. It is

frequently used to express points of great philosophical significance, as in the passage just cited (cf. also H:3.31, 10.39, 19.26). It is sometimes used more vaguely

to denote the "universe" as a whole (H:12.28, 21.42). The term is somewhat difficult to translate because, as Nature, "t'ien­ti" represents a unified notion, but it is

rhetorically divided into two elements, which are separately counted. Thus, a phrase critical to the Hsun Tzu's metaphysics, "man forms a trinity with t'ien and tiª,"

uses a triadic image but can be analyzed as meaning simply, "man becomes the complement of Nature (or T'ien)." With this fact duly noted, we will render the term

as "heaven and earth," relying on the reader to recall the essential unity of the elements of the term.

Finally, "t'ien" is also used to denote the sky, generally in tandem with "tiª," denoting the earth. When used in this way, "t'ien" and "tiª" cannot be linked to

mean Nature or the universe; they are parts of Nature, and are usually cited for illustrative purposes, as in: "The sky is the acme of height, the earth the acme of

depth . . . the Sage the acme of the tao" (H:19.36). "T'ien" is generally used in this way without particular philosophical significance, and we will reflect this by

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translating it whenever possible simply as "sky." In some cases, however, English usage dictates a translation of "the heavens."

2. As with most of the chapters in the Hsun Tzu, the "Treatise on T'ien" appears to be an agglutination of a series of semi­independent short essays, some closely

related to one another, others less so. Some sections also might be early commentary inserts (see notes 10 and 29, below). For the purposes of convenient reference,

and also to demarcate what I see as possible divisions among component essays, I have labeled these component sections by letter: A, B, C, and so forth.

I do not mean to imply that the sections of the "Treatise" all had different authors, although some might have.

3. Bracketed numbers refer to line designations in the HTYT text.

4. "Root" is a conventional term referring to agriculture.

5. Compare H:2.44, 8.89. Note that much of section A may be read with equal cogency as prescripts directed toward a political ruler or toward ordinary individuals

in pursuit of Sagehood. Its main thrust, however, seems to be political, in light of its description of the consequences of action that does not accord with the Way, a

description that speaks of social chaos.

6. Taking han as ni, following Yü Yueh (HTCC:11.22).

7. Following Watson; contra Dubs, Chan, de Bary.

8. These phrases may be compared to similar language in M:5A6, and TTC:47.

9. The "office of T'ien" traditionally has been interpreted as the process of natural creation and action (see Yang Liang's commentary in HTCC: 11.23). The phrases

beginning with, "Though it be profound . . ." have been seen as proscribing human inquiry into and exploitation of natural processes. While commentators have taken

these phrases as interdicting futile attempts to "interfere" with Nature, they may be read in another way. The implied injunction not to contest with T'ien is surely

prescriptive, but if taken to suggest a "hands­off" policy vis­à­vis Nature, it is in direct conflict with the ''Treatise's" later injunctions to "husband things" (H:17.44) and

"order things" (H:17.45) in Nature for the benefit of man. Furthermore, if the traditional interpretation is adopted, the phrases which follow, beginning with, "The

heavens have their seasons . . ." are non sequiturs.

The connection between this passage and the ones preceeding will appear more logical if we reinterpret the "office of T'ien"—that which is accomplished without

action, obtained without pursuit—as a general reference to the givens of the natural world, with particular reference to man's innate abilities: those talents, that

through effort, man can transform into ethical tools. The powers of thought, the natural abilities of the body, the powers of perception are all "Tien­like" aspects

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of man (see chapter VI, "T'ien as Prescriptive Psychology") that are available to him without his action or pursuit. They are not inherently ethical qualities, but they

are the basic potentials by means of which man becomes ethical. The proscription that the text urges is against trying to interfere with, and so pervert, these natural

potentials, either by the imposition of artificial cognitive frameworks, such as spiritualism or sophistic logic, or by unnatural body regimens, such as might have

characterized some early naturalist schools. (For evidence of such cults in the early Han, see Needham 1956:143­52. My suggestion that the Hsun Tzu might have

been responding to the existence of such cults in the late Chou is speculative.) In this, the text approaches a Mencian valuation of human nature, but remains

consistent with its stated position that the nature is not intrinsically ethical.

This interpretation more aptly fits the overall theme of section B, which describes self­cultivation in a way that bridges the ethical gap between nonpurposive

Nature and self­ritualization. The "office of T'ien" introduces a normative dimension of man's relationship to Nature and suggests that to tamper with man's natural

powers by trying to distort their limits would be to destroy man's potential for achieving a clearly ethical goal: forming a "trinity" with heaven and earth.

10. This entire paragraph makes best sense if viewed as an early commentary insertion. It seems to reformulate the prescript not to contest office with T'ien to mean

that one should not seek for a metaphysical truth behind Nature, although one does exist.

It is a very appealing passage but for all its rhetorical attractiveness, the passage does not make a great deal of sense in the context of the rest of section B. For

example, the word "spirit" (shen) at H:17.9 denotes a transcendental force close in meaning to "t'ien." But a few phrases later (H:17.10) it denotes activities of

human consciousness. Then again the implied injunction that one should not seek to know T'ien is contradicted later in section B, where the Sage's perfection is

described as "knowing T'ien" (see Matsuda 1975:69). Finally, we can note that, if deleted, the surrounding passages connect with far greater elegance than they

do otherwise. (It is true that the passage would become better integrated into the text if the word "kungª'' were supplied after "that is called T'ien." This solution

was first suggested by Yang Liang and has been endorsed by many other commentators [HTCC:11.24]. The problem is that while this does help the passage fit

better in the flow of the text, the resulting text does not make much sense and the final line of the paragraph becomes a non sequitur.)

These are not fatal problems; the passage is appealing and does link loosely with the surrounding text. Perhaps we are simply encountering a lapse in rhetorical

consistency. I prefer to read the passage as an

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insertion, in part because it otherwise weights the sense of section B against my interpretation of the "office of T'ien" (see note 9 above). However, sufficient

evidence does not exist to justify separating it from the rest of the text. Nevertheless, in light of its inconsistencies, no analysis of the overall import of section B

should rely heavily on this passage (a problem with Matsuda 1975, which hinges its interpretation of section B on this passage).

11. This passage closes the discussion of the office of T'ien—which is to provide what is spontaneously available to man—and initiates a portrait of human psychology

as an assemblage of "T'ien­like" elements. It mentions, as a mediate term, the "work of T'ien." If the preceding lines (H:17.8­10) are not taken as an interpolation, the

work of T'ien would seem to mean the creation of the physical world. If we interpret it only in terms of its subsequent occurances at H:17.14­15 it might refer either to

this general creation or to the more particular notion of human beings as the culminating objects of creation.

12. Taking weiª" [lit.: "call"] in the sense of "judge." See the discussion in chapter VI. section 4.2.

13. Taking "ch'iª" as superfluous, following lkai Keisho (HTCC:11.25).

14. The meaning of "ch'i sheng pu shang" is not completely clear. The phrase might be a response to Yangist prescripts to "preserve the body" or "nature.'' Note

that there was a Ruist tradition that to live prudently, avoid danger, and so preserve one's body intact was an act of filiality. It should also be borne in mind that

"shenga" was frequently used as a loan for "hsing": innate talents (see Fu 1940). Reading this instance as a loan usage would be perfectly consistent with the sense

of section B, where the innate is given normative content.

15. Compare TTC:45.

16. "Appropriate" is a play on the sense of "yid" (that which is appropriate). The things of the earth have meaning only in their relation to man's purposes (cf. H:10.1).

The use of "yid" in the sense of natural riches adaptable for the use of man is also found in the Yi ching (T'ai hexagram, Ta hsiang commentary).

17. The meaning here is vague. The phrases might well have been included merely to complete elements of a systematic cosmological description.

18. This section seems to be an attack on cosmological naturalism, such as the philosophy of Tsou Yen. The clear distinction of the "Ways" of T'ien and of man

appears outside the "Treatise," most notably at H:8.24.

19. The quote is from the "Chou sung" section of the Poetry, the poem "T'ien tso." These lines are cited here to reinforce the notion that people create the world

through effort; the work of T'ien merely creates the conditions that allow effort to succeed.

Page 297

Section D expands upon the proposition set forth early in the "Treatise" that political order depends upon the function of human government and is not determined

by nonpurposive T'ien. Its dominant images are agricultural and calendrical, and the section should be viewed as a recapitulation of the earlier characterization of

bad rule: "Though the seasons revolve as they do in ordered times, disaster and devastation arise unlike in ordered times" (H:17.5).

20. "Ch'ang t'i" refers to ethical dispositions, not demeanor, as Dubs and Watson have it, although were "demeanor" understood as denoting the normative aspects

of ritual form, the word would be appropriate.

21. Cf. H:4.42.

22. These lines are from a poem now lost. The same poem is cited elsewhere in the text, at H:22.48. The phrase supplied here, "li yi chih pu ch'ien," occurs at that

location, as well as in a Wen hsuan version. Yü Yueh put forward arguments for inserting the "missing" phrase here (see CTPY:155), and his emendation is now

universally accepted.

23. Rejecting Yü's gloss of "chieh" as "what is suitable" (HTCC:11.28). See the discussion in chapter VI, section 4.4.

24. Similar phrasing appears at H:2.8, 4.25, 18.105.

25. Cf. H:12.37­38.

26. The language here is difficult, although the main sense is clear. The Han­shih wai­chuan has a variant text, which reads: "Among disasters in the world of things,

those most to be feared are human portents" (2.4b). The word "yao" carries the sense both of a prodigy (freakish event) and a portent of things to come.

27. "Shuo" is probably cognate with "t'oª" (to remove), hence: "the means of extrication are nearby."

28. Here I follow a suggestion made by Ikai (HTCC:11.32), who refers to a tradition in Han historical exegesis, associated with the Kung­yang and Ku­liang

commentaries to the Ch'un­ch'iu. The tradition holds that the Sage historian records but does not explain prodigies. Ikai suggests that the conjunction "erh" should

follow "shuª" which is taken as a verb.

29. This passage may very well be a commentary insert. It seems to recapitulate the language of the preceding sections in a rather confused way, and to introduce

some rather irrelevant notions from other Ruist sources (e.g., the oblique reference to the Poetry passage discussed in A:1.15). Making the passage read with

consistency of meaning is difficult.

30. Cf. H:16.4.

31. The two sentences seem to have a political referent, perhaps ruling houses that usurped Chou ritual songs for their own clan ceremonies. The "hymns" (sung),

which are found in the Poetry, were originally songs performed at times of royal sacrifices, and they do, indeed, contain many references to T'ien, all straightforwardly

encomiastic.

Page 298

32. This is the last mention of T'ien in the "Treatise." Given this sudden shift of focus away from T'ien, the remainder of the chapter most likely was appended after the

"Treatise" had been substantially completed.

33. The discussion of the "linking thread" (kuan) here seems to refer back to passages of the Analects. See the discussion in chapter III.

34. This entire passage seems to be closely related to the Chieh­pi chapter.

35. The passage appears in the extant Hung fan chapter of the Documents.

Page 299

GLOSSARY

C

chang

ch'ang

Ch'ang Hung

ch'ang t'i

Ch'ang Ts'ung ho

Chao

Chao Ch'i

Chao Liang

che

ch'e

chen

Ch'en Chi­t'ing

Ch'en Hsiao

Chen Po yen

Ch'en She

Cheng

cheng

ch'eng

ch'engª

cheng chih

ch'eng chih

Ch'eng hsiang

Cheng Hsuan

Cheng­po Ch'iao

Page 300

Chi

chi

chiª

Ch'i

ch'i

ch'ia

ch'ib

ch'ic

ch'i ch'ing

Chi­hsia f

Ch'i lueh

ch'i sheng pu shang

Chi Yu

Chi yun

chiang

Chieh

chieh

ch'ien

ch'iena

ch'ien ling

chih

chihª

chihb

chihc

chihd

chihe

chihf

chihg

chih­che

Page 301

chih­chiang

chih pien

chih­shih

chih­wen niao chang

chin

Ch'in

chin ku

Ch'in Ku­li

Ch'in Kung chung

Ch'in Kung kuei

ching

Ch'ing

ch'ing

ch'ingª

ch'ingb

ch'iu

Chou

Chouª

Chu

chu

Ch'u

ch'u

chü

ch'ü

Chu Hsi

Chü Hsin

Chu­shu chi­nien

ch'üan

chuan­chu

Page 302

Chuang Chou

chün

ch'ün

ch'un­ch'iu

Ch'un­shen

chün­tzu

chung

chungª

chungb

ch'ung

Chung­kung

Chung­shan

Chung­shan fang­hu

Ch'ung Shang

chung­shih

chung­shu

E

erh

F

fa

faa

fang­shih

fei

fen

feng

fenga

Fu

fu

fuª

Fu kuei

Fu Shu ting

Page 303

Fu Ting tou

Fu yü

H

han

Han Yü

hao­jan chih ch'i

Ho tsun

ho wen

hou wang

hsi

Hsia

hsiang

hsiang­hsing

hsiang­sheng

Hsiang Yü

hsiao

hsiaoª

Hsiao­ch'eng

hsiao­ko

hsien­che

Hsien­men Kao

hsin

hsina

hsing

hsingª

hsingb

hsingc

Hsing chung

hsing­ming

Hsu

Page 304

Hsu­chou

Hsu Hsing

Hsu Shen

Hsu Wang Yi­ch'u chuan

hsueh

Hsun Ch'ing Tzu

Hsun K'uang

Hsun Tzu

Hsun Yü

Hu

Hu Yuan­yi

hua

Huai­pei

Huan T'ui

huang

Huang Hsieh

Huang K'an

I

It Jinsai

J

Jan Ch'iu

jen

jenª

jen­jen

jen­yi

Ju

ju

juª

jub

ju­che

ju­shu

Page 305

K

Kan Lung

Kao Tzu

Ko

k'o

Kou­chien

ku

kuª

ku­che

Ku­lun

kuai

kuan

K'uang yu

kuei

kuei­shih

K'un­yi

kung

kungª

Kung­ch'en kuei

Kung Meng Tzu

Kung­ming yi

Kung­sun Ch'ou

K'ung Tzu chia­yü

L

Lan­ling

lei

li

lia

lib

lic

lid

Page 306

lie

Li Ao

li­fa

Li K'o

li­shu

Li Ssu

li­yi

li­yi chih pu ch'ien

Liang

Liang Ch'i­ch'ao

Lin­wu

ling

liu erh

Liu Hsia­hui

Liu Hsiang

Liu Hsin

Liu Pang

liu­shih ju shun

Liu Shih­p'ei

Liu T'ai­kung

lou

Lu

Luª

lu

Lu Chung­lien

Lu Po Chung kuei

Lu Wen­chao

Lun­yü

Lun­yü yü­shuo

Page 307

lung

M

mang

Mao Kung ting

mei

Meng Hsi Tzu

Meng Tzu

Meng Wu­po

mi

min

ming

N

nei

neiª

nei tzu hsing

ni

nien

ning

ningª

Niu Hsu

O

o

P

Pan kuei

Pao yu

pi yu shih yen

Pieh lu

pien

pienª

pien­hua

pien ku

pien wu

pien yi

Page 308

p'in

p'ing­chün

Po Yi

pu

S

San­nien Hsing hu

Shang

shang

she

shen

Shen Ku­li

shen­ming

Shen Tao

sheng

shengª

sheng­jen

shih

shihª

shihb

shihc

shihd

shihe

Shih Chü fang­yi

Shih Hsun kuei

Shih Hung kuei

Shih Li kuei

Shih P'ou kuei

Shih Yü chung

shih yu chung­shih

shu

Page 309

shuª

shu yun

Shun

shuo

sou

ssu

ssuª

Ssu­ma Chen

Ssu­ma Ch'ien

ssu tuan

Su Ch'in

su­p'u

Sui

Sun Ch'ing hsin­shu hsu­lu

Sun Ch'ing Tzu

Sun K'uang

Sung

sung

Sung Chien

Sung Wu­chi

T

ta

Ta feng kuei

ta­jen

Ta K'o ting

Ta­pao kuei

Ta Yü ting

Tai Chen

T'ai­tsai

t'ai­yi

Page 310

Tan

T'ang

tao

te

te chih

T'eng

Ti

ti

tia

tib

t'i

T'ien

t'ien

T'ien Ch'ang

T'ien Chien

t'ien chih chiu

t'ien­fu

t'ien­hsia

t'ien­lu

T'ien­lun

t'ien­ming

T'ien P'ien

t'ien­shu

t'ien­ti

t'ien­tzu

T'ien Tzu­fang

ting

t'o

t'oª

Page 311

To­ya Sheng yi

tsa

tsaª

tsai

ts'ai

ts'aiª

ts'aib

ts'aic

ts'ai­p'u

Tsai Wo

ts'ai wu

Ts'ai Yuan­p'ei

ts'ao

Tseng Po X fu

Tseng Shen

Tseng Tien

Tseng Tzu

Tso Ssu

Tsou

Tsou Yen

(var. )

Ts'ui Shu

Tsukada Omine *

tsung

tu

Tu Chih

Tuan Yü­ts'ai

t'ui

t'ung

Page 312

t'ungª

t'ungb

Tung Chung­shu

t'ung lei

tzu

Tzu­ch'an

Tzu­chang

Tzu­hsia

Tzu­hua

Tzu­kao

Tzu­kung

Tzu­lu

Tzu­shen

Tzu­shun

Tzu­ssu

Tzu­yu

W

Wan Chang

wan­wu yi

wang

wang ch'ing ( = hsiang) li

Wang Chung

Wang Ch'ung

wang erh shun

Wang Hsien­ch'ien

Wang Nien­sun

Wang Pi

Wang­sun Chia

Wang Ying­lin

Wei

Page 313

Weiª

wei

weia

Wei Chao

Wei ting

wen

wenª

wenb

wen­chang

wen­hua

wen­li

wen­te

Wu

wu

wuª

wub

Wu Ch'i

wu chih chung­shih yeh

wu chih li

wu hsing

wu t'a shih yen

wu tao

wu te

wu­wei

Y

yang

Yang Chu

Yang Hu

Yang Huo

Yang Liang

Page 314

Yao

yao

Yen

Yen Jo­ch'ü

Yen Yuan

yi

yia

yib

yic

yid

yie

yif

yig

yih

Yi­li

yi tsai nei

Yi­wen chih

yi wu

Yi Yin

yi yu wu

Yin Wen

ying pien

Yü

yü

yüª

yüb

Yü Ch'ing

Yü­shih ch'un­ch'iu

yu­shui chih shih

Page 315

Yü ting

Yuan Hsien

Yuan Ssu

Yueh

yueh

Yueh­cheng Tzu

Yueh­cheng Tzu­ch'un

Yueh Yi

yung

Page 317

ABBREVIATIONS

A Analects.

Ch'ing­hua Lo Chen­yü. Yin­hsu shu­ch'i ch'ing­hua.

Chui­ho Kuo Jo­yü, et al. Yin­hsu wen­tzu chui­ho.

CKLSTTC Chung­kuo li­shih ti­t'u chi.

CKT Chan­kuo ts'e.

CL Chou­li.

CS Li Hsiao­ting. Chia­ku wen­tzu chi­shih.

CSTS Chang Ping­lin. Chang­shih ts'ung­shu.

CT Chuang Tzu.

CTPY Yü Yueh. Chu­tzu p'ing­yi.

CWKL Chou Fa­kao. Chin­wen ku­lin.

CY Chung­yung.

Daikanwa Morohashi Tetsuji. Daikanwa jiten.

EY Erh­ya.

GSR Bernhard Karlgren. Grammatica Serica Recensa.

H Hsun Tzu.

HFT Han Fei Tzu.

HFTCS Ch'en Ch'i­yu. Han Fei Tzu chi­shih.

HNT Huai­nan Tzu.

HPCTCC Hsin­pien chu­tzu chi­ch'eng.

HS Han­shu.

Hsu­pien Lo Chen­yü. Yin­hsu shu­ch'i hsu­pien.

Hsu­ts'un Hu Hou­hsuan. Chia­ku hsu­ts'un.

HSWC Han­shih wai­chuan.

HTCC Wang Hsien­ch'ien. Hsun Tzu chi­chieh.

Page 318

HTCS Liang Ch'i­hsiung. Hsun Tzu chien­shih.

HTYT Hsun Tzu yin­te.

KBTS Shirakawa Shizuka. Kinbun tsushaku *.

KK K'ao­ku.

K'o­chai Wu Ta­ch'eng. K'o­chai chi ku­lu.

KT Kuan Tzu.

KY Kuo­yü.

KYC Kung­yang chuan.

KYYS Ch'en Li. Kung­yang yi­shu.

LC Li­chi.

LCCC Sun Hsi­tan. Li­chi chi­chieh.

LSCC Lü­shih ch'un­ch'iu.

LYCY Liu Pao­nan. Lun­yü cheng­yi

LYYT Lun­yü yin­te.

M Mencius.

Ming Ming Yi­Shih (James M. Menzies). Yin­hsu pu­tz'u hou­pien.

MT Mo Tzu.

MTCK Sun Yi­jang. Mo Tzu chien­ku.

MTCY Chiao Hsun and Chiao Hu. Meng Tzu cheng­yi.

MTYT Meng Tzu yin­te.

NE Aristotle. Nicomachean Ethics.

Pu­tz'u Jung Keng and Chü Jun­min. Yin­hsu pu­tz'u.

S Shima Kunio. Inkyo bokuji sorui*.

SC Ssu­ma Ch'ien. Shih­chi.

SHC Shan­hai ching.

SPPY Ssu­pu pei­yao.

SPTK Ssu­pu ts'ung­k'an.

SWCTKL Ting Fu­pao. Shuo­wen chieh­tzu ku­lin.

Ta­hsi Kuo Mo­jo. Liang­Chou chin­wen ta­hsi t'u­lu.

Page 319

TC Tso­chuan.

TCHC Takezoe Koko * Tso­chuan hui­chien.

TH Ta­hsueh.

TTC Tao te ching.

TTLC Ta­Tai li­chi.

Wai­pien Tung Tso­pin. Yin­hsu wen­tzu wai­pien.

WH Hsiao T'ung. Wen hsuan.

WSTK Chang Hsin­ch'eng. Wei­shu t'ung­k'ao.

WW Wen­wu.

Yi­pien Tung Tso­pin. Hsiao­t'un ti­erh­pen: Yin­hsu wen­tzu: yi­pien.

Yi­ts'un Shang Ch'eng­tso. Yin­ch 'i yi­ts'un.

YTL Yen­t'ieh lun.

Page 321

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Page 339

INDEX

A

Ames, Roger, 247­48, 280­81

Analects:

as canonical, 80, 82, 243

interpretation of, 80­81, 95­96

literary aspects of, 54

passages of appearing in Hsun Tzu, 239­40, 242

passages of appearing in Mencius, 241­2

textual nature of, 80­81, 239­2

timeliness in, 44, 50­51, 283

virtue terminology in, 233.

See also, Li, in Analects; Sagehood, in Analects; T'ien, in Analects

Analects passage index:

(1.1), 52

(2.4), 5, 89­91, 97­98

(2.9), 71

(2.10), 71

(2.16), 282

(3.3), 44

(3.12), 250

(3.13), 45, 87, 97

(3.18), 216

(3.19), 40

(3.24), 88

(4.1), 66

(4.13), 40, 44

(4.14), 52

(4.15), 67

(5.13), 85

(6.7), 71

(6.9), 51

(6.13), 191

(6.17), 66

(6.22), 96, 251

(6.28), 45, 87, 97

(7.7), 230

(7.11), 50

(7.12), 50

(7.15), 46

(7.16), 50

(7.21), 250

(7.23), 83, 97

(7.35), 251

(8.8), 39, 217­18

(8.12), 50

(8.13), 44

(8.19), 5, 85, 97­98

(9.5), 40, 83, 97

(9.6), 84

(9.7), 244

(9.8), 67

(9.12), 248­49

(10.2), 34

(10.6), 215

(10.17), 215

(11.9), 93, 97

(11.18), 249

(11.21), 227

(11.24), 60

(12.1), 40, 68

(12.2), 68

(12.5), 5, 93

(12.8), 216

(12.24), 218

(13.5), 229

(13.13), 219

(14.4), 66

(14.19), 46

(14.28), 66

(14.35), 91, 97

(14.36), 92, 251

(14.41), 40

(15.3), 67

(15.5), 35

(15.24), 68

(15.31), 55

(15.32), 226

(16.8), 93, 97­98

(16.13), 56, 90

(17.1), 35

(17.17), 5, 86, 97, 246

(19.25), 5

(20.1), 86

Aristotle, 72

Augustine, 237

Austin, J. L., 208

B

Bodde, Derk, 205

C

Chan, Wing­tsit, 159­60, 245, 294

Ch'ang Hung, 271

Chang Ping­lin (1868­1936), 190­91, 289, 291

Chan­kuo ts'e, 46, 49, 220, 225­26, 265­66

Chao Ch'i (d. A.D. 201), 252, 258, 282

Chao Liang, 222

Ch'en Chi­t'ing (Lung­cheng, b. 1585), 249

Ch'en Ch'i­yu, 221, 291

Ch'en Hsiao, 266

Ch'en P'an, 228

Ch'en She, 223

Cheng Hsuan (A.D. 127­200), 230, 235

Cheng Hsu­p'ing, 243

Ch'i (energy), 259­60

Ch'i lueh, 252

Chi Yu. See Tzu­lu

Chiao Hsun (1763­1820), 249, 252

Ch'ien Mu, 99, 219, 222, 228, 253, 264­66, 290

Chi­hsia Academy, 48, 134­37, 140, 231, 240, 264, 266­67

Chi­hsia materialism. See, Sung­Yin (Chi­hsia) materialism

Ch'in Ku­li, 223

Chou Dynasty (1045­221 B.C.). See Eastern Chou Dynasty; Western Chou Dynasty

Chou­li:

education syllabi in, 59, 195­96, 215

textual nature of, 290

Chu Fang­p'u, 288

Chu Hsi (1130­1200), 4, 238, 245, 247

Chü Hsin, 226

Chuang Tzu, 38, 139, 150, 206, 258, 269

Chuang Tzu, 139, 143, 168, 190, 207, 224, 227, 231, 237, 276, 283­84, 288

Page 340

Ch'un­ch'iu fan­lu, 281

Chung (devotion), 67­68, 234­35

Ch'ung Yü, 123, 262

Chung­kung, 219

Chung­yung, 73, 108, 144, 235, 245, 257, 281­82

date of, 271­72

Chün­tzu (gentleman):

meaning of term, 219, 232

Chu­shu chi­nien, 209

Confucianism:

problems with term, 1, 6, 206

See also, Ruism

Confucius:

aesthetics of, 39, 60

as agent of T'ien, 83, 88­89, 91­92, 248

apparent agnosticism of, 142, 250­51

biography of, 37­38, 216­17

disciples' political careers, 46, 217, 219­20

as exemplar of Sagehood, 84, 86, 238

as exemplar of timeliness, 51

generational division of disciples, 46

jen as innovation of, 66­68, 232, 257

and li, 35, 38­41, 62

modesty of, 244

and music, 58

as political actor, 38, 42, 44­46, 87­88, 215, 217, 226, 246

political failure of, 38, 45­46, 82, 88­93, 247­49

relation of to Analects, 80­81, 94­98, 235, 239­43, 245­46, 251

relationship with disciples, 54, 93­94

silence on metaphysics of, 85, 94­98

and study, 55

as a teacher, 38

and Yen Yuan, 50­51

Creel, H. G., 42, 54, 95, 181­82, 223, 227, 236­37, 251, 285­86

Crump, James, 225

Csikszentmihalyi, Mihaly, 178

D

Dance:

in early China, 35, 192­97, 215­16

as metaphor for Ruist enterprise, 1­3, 13, 179­80, 284

and origins of term ju, 192­97

in Ruist syllabus, 59­60

Danto, Arthur, 208, 263

Dardess, John, 206

de Bary, Wm. Theodore, 294

Descartes, René, 70

Dobson, W. A. C. H., 234, 255

Documents (Shang­shu), 85, 151, 196, 212­13, 255, 298

problems of dating, 210

role of in Mohism, 57

role of in Ruism, 56­57, 229

Dubs, H. H., 243, 248, 251, 278, 294

Duke Ching of Ch'i, 195

Duke of Chou, 21, 210­11, 290­91

Duke Mu of Lu, 221

Duke Ting of Lu, 195

Duke Wen of T'eng, 104, 261

E

Eastern Chou Dynasty (771­221 B.C.):

decline of hereditary privilege in, 37

popular ethics in, 37

ritual decline in, 36­37

Erikson, Erik, 231

Fan Sui, 265

F

Fate:

as dimension of T'ien, 4­5, 28

See also, Ming.

Feng­su t'ung­yi, 264, 266

Filiality. See Ruism, role of filiality in

Fingarette, Herbert, 32, 69­70, 74, 215, 218, 232, 234­36, 281

Five elements, theory of, 141

Flood­like energy (hao­jan chih ch'i), 113, 174­75, 179

Four sprouts (ssu tuan). See, Mencius, four sprouts in

Freud, Sigmund, 70

Fried, Morton, 209

Fu Pei­jung, 205

Fung Yu­lan, 4, 65, 95, 141, 172, 192, 246, 248, 250, 262, 270

G

Graham, A. C., 110, 118, 140, 206, 244, 257­59, 261­62, 269, 284, 291

Granet, Marcel, 291

Great Oneness (t'ai­yi), 153, 174­75, 277

H

Hall, David, 247­48, 280­81

Han Fei Tzu, 48, 55, 61, 259, 265, 269

Han Yü (768­824), 248

Hansen, Chad, 206, 237, 273, 284

Han­shih wai­chuan, 265, 267, 297

Han­shu, 223, 239

Page 341

Heaven, See T'ien.

Ho, Ping­ti, 285

Hobbes, Thomas, 72

Hou Han shu, 219

Hou Wai­lu, 4, 251, 289

Hsiang Yü, 33, 224

Hsing (human nature):

complements ming in Mencius, 107, 124, 126­29

etymology of term, 261

not discussed by Confucius, 85

as prescriptive concept of Sagely totalism in Mencius, 107, 118­20, 128­29

as valueless in Hsun Tzu, 73, 144, 149­50, 275

Hsu, Francis L. K., 72

Hsu Hsing, 224

Hsu Shen (A.D. 30­124), 192

Hsueh (study):

translation of term, 228

Hsun K'uang:

biography of, 134­36, 264­66, 279

at Chi­hsia, 48, 135, 143, 239

disciples of, 136­37, 228, 266, 268

erudition of, 240

as leader of Ruist faction, 108, 133, 144, 256­57

position of at Lan­ling, 135­36, 221­22, 264­65

relation of to Hsun Tzu text, 135­37, 165­66, 264­68, 279

See also, Hsun Tzu

Hsun Tzu. See Hsun K'uang

Hsun Tzu:

analogical extension in, 145­46, 176

anti­spiritualism of, 142­43, 157

artiface as source of human value in, 149

attacks Mencius, 141­42, 149

attacks Taoism, 139, 150

central agenda of as defending li, 138, 143­44, 148, 154, 169

cooptation of Taoist ideas in, 139­40

on dance, 180

deferred gratification in, 151

desires in, 158, 269­70, 275

dichotomy of man and Nature in, 152­53, 157, 162, 164

educative role of li in, 41, 58, 150­52

Great Oneness in, 153, 174­75, 277

hierarchical social ideal of, 146­49

influence of yin­yang naturalism on, 141­42

influence of on Han thought, 136, 267

knowledge as knowing limits in, 151­52, 162, 172

later kings in, 268­69

linkage of li and law in, 147

mind as distinction­maker in, 145­47, 151, 158

mind as evaluating organ, 278

mind as primitive urges in, 150, 158

mind as T'ien­like in, 158­62

non­Legalist nature of, 274­75

organization of, 267­68

overlap of empirical and normative realms in, 146

paradox in, 138, 147, 164

as polemical text, 135

political theory of, 144, 147­49

problems of authorship, 134­37, 264­68, 275

refutation of Mohist frugality in, 148

response and transformation in, 147, 176­77, 283

as response to naturalism, 132, 143, 149, 168

role of Ch'eng­hsiang and Fu chapters in, 137, 166, 268, 284

Sage control over world of things in, 160

Sage forms trinity with Heaven and earth in, 163­65

similarities with Kuan Tzu chapters in, 141

teleological metaphysics of, 144, 152­54

textual origins of, 134­37, 264, 267­68

theory of education in, 55, 58, 144, 150­52

theory of language in, 146

theory of ritual nurturance in, 160­61

theory of human nature in, 73, 144, 149­50, 275

theory of world and of knowledge in, 144­47

"Treatise on T'ien" analyzed 154­68

See also, Li, in Hsun Tzu; Sagehood, in Hsun Tzu; T'ien, in Hsun Tzu

Hsun Tzu passage index:

(ch. 1), 13, 58, 146­47, 150, 176, 276

(ch. 2), 32, 161, 177

(ch. 3), 65, 147, 246, 268, 282­83

(ch. 4), 73, 147, 150, 166, 168, 276

(ch. 5), 10, 145, 173, 176

(ch. 6), 58, 150

(ch. 8), 55, 68, 147, 152, 173, 176­77

(ch. 9), 146, 148, 153

(ch. 10), 148­49, 162, 278

Page 342

(ch. 11), 147

(ch. 12), 149, 160

(ch. 15), 147

(ch. 16), 148

(ch. 17), 154­68, 198­204, 275, 279­80

(ch. 19), 152­53, 161, 168, 174­75, 274, 277, 293

(ch. 20), 152, 180

(ch. 21), 147, 151­52, 165, 177, 231, 268­69, 283­84

(ch. 22), 146, 151, 271­72

(ch. 23), 153, 275­76

(ch. 26), 166, 276

(ch. 27), 162, 168

(ch. 28), 263

Hu Shih (1891­1962), 191, 289

Hu Yuan­yi (1848­1907), 267­68

Huai­nan Tzu, 110­11, 258

Huan T'ui, 83, 93

Huang (august), 22, 211

Huang Hsieh (Lord Ch'un­shen), 134­35, 224, 264­65, 267­68

Huang K'an (A.D. 488­545), 242

I

lkai Keisho (1761­1845), 296­97

Ikeda Suetoshi, 95, 168, 194, 214, 216, 250, 262, 280, 292

Ito * Jinsai (1626­1705), 253

J

James, William, 70

Jan Ch'iu, 38, 51, 217, 219­20

Jao Tsung­yi, 195, 289­90

Jen:

ambiguity of term in Analects, 5, 66

denotes totalistic virtue in Analects, 66­69, 107, 233

etymology of, 232

as fully human self, 73

linkage to li of, 68­69, 235­36

as restricted innate disposition in Mencius, 116­18, 120

restricted sense of in Mohism, 110­11, 114

Ju:

etymology of term, 190­97

K

Kaizuka Shigeki, 248

Kan Lung, 222

Kanaya Osamu, 136, 228, 268, 274­76

Kao Tzu, 55, 113­15, 257, 259­60

Karlgren, Bernhard, 214, 248, 292

Katakura Nozomu, 273

Keightley, David, 209

Kimura Eiichi, 240

King Chao (Chou ruler, r. 977­957 B.C.), 210, 213

King Chao of Ch'in, 267

King Ch'eng (Chou ruler, r. 1042­1006 B.C.), 21, 209­10, 213

King Hsiang of Ch'i, 134­35

King Hsiao­ch'eng of Chao, 265, 267

King Hsuan (Chou ruler, r. 827­782), 25

King Hsuan of Ch'i, 117, 224, 264

King Hui of Liang, 47, 252

King K'ang (Chou ruler, r. 1005­977 B.C.), 24

King Li (Chou ruler, r. 859­842 B.C.), 24, 213

King Min of Ch'i, 134, 264

King T'ai (predynastic Chou ruler), 104, 254

King Wei of Ch'i, 264

King Wen (predynastic Chou ruler, r. c. 1100­1050 B.C.), 20, 23, 25, 254­55

King Wu (Chou founder, r. 1049­1043 B.C.), 20­21, 23, 25, 103­4, 116, 119, 211, 255, 287

King Yi (Chou ruler, r. 867­860 B.C.), 21

King Yu (Chou ruler, r. 781­771 B.C.), 27

Knoblock, John, 221, 264­66

Kodama Rokuro*, 278

Ku (innate; original), 244, 249, 262

Kuan Tzu, 65, 138, 140­41, 150, 231, 259, 269­70, 277­79

Kubo Ai (1759­1832), 277

K'uei (legendary minister), 196­97

Kuhn, Thomas, 207

Ku­liang chuan, 292, 297

K'ung Tzu chia­yü, 217

Kung­ming Yi, 252

Kung­sun Ch'ou, 100, 228, 253

Kung­yang chuan, 283, 292, 297

Kuo Mo­jo, 212­13

Kuo­yü, 216, 292

L

Langer, Susanne, 284

Lao Tzu, 139, 275

Lao Tzu. See, Tao te ching

Lau, D. C., 219, 239, 248, 255, 275

Page 343

Legalism, 207, 215, 274

Legge, James, 208, 247, 255

Levi­Strauss, Claude, 292

Li (ritual): See also Ruism, role of li in

in Analects:

aesthetic dimension of, 39, 60

generates social order, 40

linkage to jen of, 44, 68­69

as medium of communication, 34­35

as path to Sagehood, 41, 89­90

T'ien as source of, 85­86, 94

in Hsun Tzu: as central focus of text, 138, 144, 154, 165

creates economic prosperity, 148­49, 208, 274

educates Sages, 150­52

as extension of Nature, 138, 153­55, 163­64

fits category structure of world, 145, 147

and liª, 133, 145, 152, 163

as natural social necessity, 147­49

Naturalism devalues, 133, 138, 143­44

as non­natural, 132, 147, 154

as nurturance, 161, 276

as teleological end of cosmos, 138

theory of T'ien rationalizes, 132, 155, 165, 169

in Mencius:

and flood­like energy, 113, 174­75, 179

imbedded in human nature, 107, 120

linked to yi, 112­15

reticence of text on, 106­9, 129

as source of Sagely totalism, 57, 106­7, 113, 129, 235

pre­Confucian uses of term, 212

as social and ceremonial ritual in China:

aesthetics of, 36, 39

as Chou codes, 12, 19, 32, 48, 107

decline of in Eastern Chou, 36­37

in Shang, 20

social pervasiveness of, 19, 211

in Western Chou, 22­23, 40

and wen, 39, 218

and religious ritual, 40, 142

usurpations of, 36­37

term defined, 214­15

Liª (natural principle), 276

and ritual li, 133, 145, 152, 163

Li Ao (772­841), 248

Li K'o, 223

Li Ssu, 266

Li Tu, 95

Liang Ch'i­ch'ao(1873­1929), 215, 221, 266

Liang Ch'i­hsiung, 263

Li­chi, 36, 56, 108, 194, 217, 239, 257, 267, 271, 278

education in, 59

Lieh Tzu, 289

Lifton, Robert, 231

Lin Yü­sheng, 232, 236

Liu Chieh, 192, 291

Liu Hsiang (77­6 B.C.), 263­64, 267

Liu Hsia­hui, 237

Liu Hsin (c. 53 B.C.­A.D. 23), 252, 290

Liu Pang, 32, 224

Liu Pao­nan (1791­1855), 239, 245

Liu Shih­p'ei (1884­1919), 267

Liu T'ai­kung (1751­1805), 279

Locke, John, 70

Logicians, school of, 144­45, 172

Lord Lin­wu, 265

Lu Chung­lien, 231

Lu Wen­chao (1717­1796), 267

Lun­heng, 187, 239

Lü­shih ch'un­ch'iu, 138, 140, 150, 258, 277

M

Ma Ch'eng­yuan, 288

Maclntyre, Alasdair, 207

Mandate of Heaven, 23, 105, 213­14, 254, 262

Marquis Wen of Wei, 47, 223

Marx, Karl, 237

Matsuda Hiroshi, 131

Mencius:

attacked in Hsun Tzu, 141­42, 149

denies value of argument, 246, 257

disciples of, 54, 100, 104­6, 220­21, 227­28, 253

millennarian beliefs of, 102, 116­18, 123

political career of, 44, 47­48, 51­52, 99­102, 123­24, 224, 226­27, 252­53

populism of, 101

position of on hereditary privilege, 255­56

practice taught by, 106­9, 113­14

satirized in Mo Tzu, 111, 257

teachers of, 252

See also, Mencius

Mencius:

complementarity of hsing and ming in, 107, 124, 126­29

Page 344

debate with Kao Tzu in, 54­55, 114­16

doctrine of four sprouts in, 107, 116­18, 127­28

doctrine of internality of righteousness in, 107, 114­15, 260

doctrine of personal decree in, 107, 123­30

flood­like energy in, 113

hsing as Sagely totalism in, 107, 117­20, 128­29

identification of actual and ideal man in, 116, 261

integration of li in human nature in, 107, 120

jen in, 112, 116­18

linkage of li and Sagely totalism in, 106­7, 113, 129, 235

linkage of li to yi in, 112­15

as a polemical text, 109

political doctrines in, 101­6

as response to Mohism, 107, 109­16

reticence concerning li of, 106­9, 129

significance of Mencius' political failure to, 123­24, 129­30

spiritualism in, 255

and Taoism, 107, 109­10

textual nature of, 99­100, 252­53

theories in defend Ruist interests, 3, 14­15, 101, 106, 109, 129

theory of human nature in, 107, 114­20, 260­61

timeliness in, 51, 102, 262

See also, Li, in Mencius; Sagehood, in Mencius; T'ien, in Mencius

Mencius passage index:

(1B.3), 103, 254

(1B.14), 104

(1B.16), 214

(2A.1), 254

(2A.2), 113, 115, 175, 260­61, 282

(2A.5), 103

(2A.6), 117

(2B.12), 116

(2B.13), 123

(3A.1), 260

(3A.5), 121

(4A.13), 121­22

(4A.16), 71

(4A.27), 113, 177

(4B.11), 236

(4B.14), 234

(4B.26), 119

(5A5), 104­5

(5A.6), 105

(5A8), 124­25, 258

(5B.1), 51

(6A4), 115, 259

(6A.5), 115

(6A.6), 121

(6A.8), 282

(6A.15), 121

(6A.16), 121

(6B.2), 57

(6B.15), 130

(7A.1), 3, 122, 126, 176

(7A2), 126

(7A3), 127

(7A.4), 106, 176

(7A.13), 106

(7A.15), 113

(7A19), 176­77

(7A21), 120

(7A38), 128

(7A.46), 106

(7B.24), 127

(7B.33), 32, 119, 263

Meng Hsi­tzu, 217

Meng Wu­po, 220, 230

Merleau­Ponty, Maurice, 208

Metzger, Thomas, 65, 232

Ming (fate; decree):

complements hsing in Mencius, 107, 124, 126­29

etymology of term, 125

in Hsun Tzu, 167

as personal decree in Mencius, 107, 123­30

relation to T'ien in Analects, 92, 249­50

and timeliness, 263

Miyazaki Ichisada, 244, 248

Mo Tzu, 110­11, 223

Mo Tzu, 53, 57, 61, 110­11, 207, 230, 237, 251, 257­59, 289

Mohism:

attacks on Ruism by, 53, 61, 107, 109­12, 173, 230

doctrine as central to, 208

Emperor Yü in, 246

frugality in, 148

interest in logic of, 9, 145, 172, 206­7, 281

jen and yi in, 110­11, 114

role of Documents in, 57

utilitarian ethics of, 38, 111­12

view of man in, 236­37

views of T'ien in, 242

Mote, Frederick, 42, 289

Munro, Donald, 232, 236­37, 261

N

Naturalism:

as dominant trend of late Chou thought, 132, 138, 144

in Kuan Tzu and Lü­shih ch'un­ch'iu, 138, 140

and spiritualism, 142­43

and Sung­Yin materialism, 140­41

and Taoism, 139­41

values spontaneity, 143, 149

and Yangism, 140

and yin­yang thought, 141­42

See also T'ien, in naturalistic philosophy

Needham, Joseph, 140, 275, 289

Niu Hsu, 222

Nivison, David, 209

O

Oakeshott, Michael, 280

P

Parmenides, 3

Passmore, John, 1

Piaget, Jean, 9, 207

Pieh­lu, 223

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Plato, 70, 236

Poetry (Shih ching), 26­27, 120­21, 151, 210, 212­14, 217, 235, 245, 263, 291­92, 296­97

li in, 212

role of in Ruism, 34, 56­59, 229

Polanyi, Michael, 9, 207

Po­yi (pre­Confucian Sage), 237

Practical totalism:

excludes pluralism, 65­66, 74

and Ruist views of self, 69­75

term defined, 64­65, 231

See also, Sagehood

R

Riegel, Jeffrey, 253, 257, 260, 282

Ritual:

in early societies, 19­20

See also, Li

Rosemont, Henry, 232

Royce, Anya, 284

Ru, 6­7

See also, Ju; Ruism

Ruism. See also, Analects; Hsun Tzu; Mencius; Sagehood, as Ruist ideal; Tien, in Ruism

bifurcation of political and self­cultivation doctrines in, 1, 14, 30­31, 50­52, 62­63, 87­88

as a community, 6­7, 14, 32­33, 52­53

eccentricities of, 53

eremetic tendencies in, 231, 249

factions in, 54­55

and filiality, 227

master­disciple relationship in, 54, 230

the study group in, 31, 53­55, 137

fatalistic elements of, 249

on hereditary privilege, 40, 218

hostility towards speech and argument in, 86, 172, 246

ideas of history in, 12, 247

philosophical nature of:

anti­relativism of, 12, 65­66, 74­75

and categories of Western philosophy, 205

centrality of teacher to, 12­13, 208

links theory and practice, 2, 6­13, 173

as nonanalytic synthetic enterprise, 2, 7­8, 9­11, 171­73

not fully conveyed in texts, 6, 10­11, 43, 75

primacy of skill knowledge in, 8­10, 67, 171­73, 283

as problematic, 1­3, 6, 14, 19, 28, 32, 171

rationalizing role of theory in, 7, 9­11

relationality essential to, 8, 72­73, 280­82

tends to exclude metaphysics and spiritualism 5, 142, 250­51

as traditionalist teaching, 3, 48, 61

political history of:

after Ch'in conquest, 223­24

Confucius' political career, 37­38

and imperative of withdrawal, 50­52

Mencius' political career, 47­48, 51­52

Hsun Tzu's political career, 135­36, 221, 264­66

political roles of early disciples, 38, 46, 50­51

and war in Yen, 48­49

in Warring States era, 42­50, 220­23

portrait of self in, 14, 69­75

as bifurcated, 74

supports program of self­ritualization, 72­74

as a pre­Confucian school, 190­93

professional roles in:

attacked, 61

and economic constraints, 47, 60­61, 63

and feudal courts, 47­49, 61

and funeral rites, 61­62

as political advisors, 47­48

as ritualists, 47

as stipended wise men, 47, 61, 224

as tutors, 47, 61­62

role of filiality in, 73, 227, 242­43

role of li in:

aesthetic dimensions of, 35, 39, 58­60

attacked by other schools, 53, 107, 230­31

as cardinal value, 19, 32, 38­41, 62, 171

as core of sect, 1­2, 7, 10, 33, 43­44, 63

generates holistic perspective, 11, 13

as historical culmination, 12, 173

as latent social order, 40

non­religious nature of, 40­41, 96­97, 142

as path to Sagehood, 33, 41

as philosophical category, 39

as political force, 40, 44, 62

as professional skill, 61­62

in Ruist syllabus, 55, 57­59, 63

as source of jen, 68­69

as subject to change, 215

succeeds T'ien as value base, 14, 19, 28, 33

See also, Li, in Analects; Li, in Hsun Tzu; Li, in Mencius

Page 346

role of T'ien in:

instrumental analysis of, 5­6, 11, 30

used to legitimize core interests, 2, 11, 30

vagueness in, 3­5

See also T'ien, in Analects; T'ien, in Mencius; T'ien, in Hsun Tzu

syllabus of, 9, 12, 55­60

Documents in, 56­57, 229

li codes in, 57­58

martial arts in, 56

Poetry in, 34, 56­57, 229

role of music and dance in, 1, 33, 58­60

synthesizes distinct outlook, 30

textual study in, 10, 56­57, 229

Ryle, Gilbert, 207

S

Sagehood. See also Practical totalism

in Analects:

Confucius and, 84, 86, 90­91

and T'ien, 82­87

term jen linked to, 66­69

and understanding T'ien, 89, 91

in Hsun Tzu:

and analogic extension, 147, 176

and control over world of things, 160, 177

forms trinity with Heaven and earth, 153, 163, 165

as product of non­natural li, 138, 150­52

as responsive mastery, 147, 283

in Mencius:

descriptions of, 106, 176­77, 233

and li, 57, 106­9, 113, 129, 236

not bound by rules, 176, 283

prescriptive term hsing denotes, 118­20, 128­29

and T'ien, 109, 121­22, 126, 128­29

in non­Ruist thought, 65, 178

as Ruist ideal:

and coherent integration, 12, 64­69, 173, 176

and control, 160, 176­77

and focus of concentration, 175­76

and freedom and joy, 177

and individuality, 74­75, 238

and meaning of T'ien, 171, 173­74, 180

as product of ritual practice, 33, 41, 57, 64­65

and Sage kings, 177­78

and skill mastery, 84, 173, 178­79

terminology of, 43, 84, 218­19, 233

and views of self, 69­75

Sartre, Jean­Paul, 72

Schwartz, Benjamin, 210, 235­36

Self, concepts of, 69­75

Western and Chinese views contrasted, 70­72, 236­38

Seligman, Paul, 205

Serruys, Paul L­M, 289

Shang Dynasty (c. 1766­1045 B.C.), 208­9, 212

religious ritual in, 20, 35­36

Shaughnessy, Edward, 209­10

Shen Ku­li, 221

Shen Tao, 268

Shih­chi, 46, 51, 83, 141­43, 195, 209­217, 219­22, 224, 226, 243, 245, 254, 264­67, 270, 282, 292

reliability of, 220

Shima Kunio, 35, 181, 183­84, 186, 285­87

Shirakawa Shizuka, 213­14, 217, 291

Shu (reciprocity), 68, 235

Shun (Sage emperor), 85, 104, 116, 196, 255­56

Shuo­wen chieh­tzu, 186­87, 192­94, 235­36, 282, 287

Skills:

mastery of as basis of totalistic model of Sagehood, 84, 178­80

determine views of reality, 9­10, 171

and personality, 238

and Ruist education, 30, 173

and rules, 172­73

as Taoist focus, 284

Socrates, 3, 250

Spiritualism:

attacked in Hsun Tzu, 157

as naturalism, 142­44, 270­71

Spring and Autumn Annals (Ch'un­ch'iu), 56, 229, 290

Ssu­ma Ch'ien (c. 145­86? B.C.), 32, 52, 225, 243

Ssu­ma Chen (fl. c. A.D. 725), 267, 282

Su Ch'in, 226

Sung Chien, 137, 140­41, 270

Sung­Yin (Chi­hsia) materialism:

as naturalism, 140­41

Synthetic philosophy:

relativity in, 9, 11

Ruism as, 9­10, 171­73

Taoism as, 283­84

See also Ruism, philosophical nature of

Page 347

T

Ta Tai li­chi, 257, 267, 281

Ta­hsueh, 31, 108, 144, 235, 257, 281­82

date of, 271­72

Tai Chen (1723­1777), 282

Takeuchi Yoshio, 227, 240­42, 256

T'ang (Shang founder), 116, 119, 254

T'ang Chün­yi, 4, 248­50

T'ang Lan, 213, 288

Tao (Way; teaching):

includes both practices and statements, 8­9, 206

meaning of term, 206

relation to T'ien in Taoism, 250

Tao te ching, 65, 150, 237, 277

Taoism:

attacks on Ruist ritualism by, 109, 231

ethical relativism in, 38

as naturalism, 139­40, 143­44

portrait of self in, 237

and Sagely totalism, 232

synthetic aspects in common with Ruism, 207­8, 283­84

views of T'ien in, 242

Te (virtue):

use of term in Analects, 233

Theodicy, problem of, 27, 82

Ti (supreme deity), 24, 183­84, 212­13

T'ien

as amoral Fate, 28, 214

in Analects:

Confucius as agent of, 83, 89

Confucius' views of, 81, 94­98

determines political failure of Confucius, 81­82, 88­94, 248

in editors' theory, 81­94

nonphilosophical uses of, 93­94

prescribes political purism, 81­82, 87­88

prescriptive­descriptive split in role of, 81­82

previous analyses of, 79, 95

as Nature, 243­46

relation of to ming, 249­50

and Sagehood, 82­87

as source of li, 14, 81­87, 94

teleological role of, 82, 248

etymology of term, 181­89

in Hsun Tzu:

conceived as Nature in response to naturalistic thought, 132

contradictions concerning, 131­32, 155, 163

as descriptive fate or teleology, 133, 155­56, 165­67, 169

as god, 133, 155, 168

as Nature normatively conceived, 131­32, 154­55, 168­69

non­normative and normative dimensions of linked, 157­58

as non­normative Nature, 131­32, 138, 154­57, 168­69

as normative model for Sage, 163­65

previous analyses of, 15, 131

and role of in Analects and Mencius, 15, 133, 155

as source of valueless human nature, 149­50

as source of li, 132, 138, 160­61, 163­65, 168

as source of T'ien­like elements of human nature, 158­163

theory of defends commitment to li, 131­33, 155, 169

and ''T'ien­like nurturance," 159­61

in "Treatise on T'ien," 131, 154­68

in Mencius:

as basis of Sagely totalism, 109, 121­22, 126, 128­29

determines political failure of Mencius, 108, 122­25, 129­30

humane ruler as agent of, 103

and Mandate of Heaven, 104­6

as object of knowledge, 126

prescribes li through hsing, 107­8, 122, 129

prescriptive­descriptive split in role of, 102, 122, 128

role of in political doctrines, 101­6

and role of in Analects, 122, 129

as source of hsing, 120­22, 128­29

as source of personal decree, 124­26, 129­30

teleological role of, 121, 126, 128, 130, 214

theories of in text, 14­15, 99, 104­6

and mid­Chou intellectual crisis, 2

and theodicy, 27

in Mohism, 112, 243

in naturalistic philosophy, 133, 140, 150, 277

in Ruism:

ambiguities of meaning of, 2, 4­6

analyzed instrumentally, 3, 5­6, 11, 13, 30, 79, 208

explains political failure, 10, 14

meaning of

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as function of focus on li, 19, 28

meaning of related to concept of Sagehood, 171, 173­74, 180

rhetorical force of term, 79

source of ritual prescripts, 28

in Taoism, 139, 150, 243

traditional analyses of, 4, 205

in Western Chou:

discredited by fall of royal power, 19, 22, 26­27

and kingship, 23­26, 36­37, 213­14

and Mandate of Heaven theory, 23

in religious practice, 4, 21­22

as sky god, 26

T'ien Chien, 134, 264

T'ien P'ien, 266, 268

T'ien Tzu­fang, 220

Timeliness (shih):

in Analects, 44, 50­51, 283

in Mencius, 51­52, 102, 123, 262

and ming, 263

in non­Ruist texts, 254

as Ruist political doctrine, 44, 50­52

and Ruist teleology, 166­67, 247

Tong Kin­woon, 216

Totalism (Ruist concept of Sagehood). See Practical totalism; Sagehood

Tsai Wo, 226

Ts'ai Yuan­p'ei (1868­1940), 258

Tseng Shen, 46, 67, 99, 220­21, 234, 242, 252, 257

Tseng Tien, 60, 230

Tso Ssu (d. c. A.D. 306), 270, 292

Tsou Yen, 139, 141­43, 163, 226, 270­71, 276­77, 296

Tso­chuan, 102, 191, 215, 217, 220, 225, 229­30, 234­35, 245, 253

stance of on spiritualism, 142­43, 255, 270­71

textual nature of, 289

T'ien as amoral fate in, 214

Tsuda Sokichi *, 233, 240­41, 251

Ts'ui Shu (1740­1816), 80, 219, 242, 246, 251, 253­54

Tsukada Omine, 278

Tu Chih, 222

Tu Erh­wei, 285

Tu Kuo­hsiang, 268

Tuan Yü­ts'ai (1735­1815), 235, 288, 292

Tzu­ch'an, 271

Tzu­chang, 46, 226, 252

Tzu­hsia, 46­47, 60, 93, 191, 219, 223, 250

Tzu­hua, 219

Tzu­kao, 219­20

Tzu­kung, 54, 67, 92, 219­20, 234, 242, 244, 249, 251

Tzu­lu, 38, 51, 54, 60, 87, 97, 217, 219, 227, 248, 283

Tzu­shen (Tzu­shun), 222

Tzu­ssu, 99, 141­42, 252, 256

Tzu­yu, 46, 219, 234

W

Waley, Arthur, 233, 235, 245, 248­49

Wan Chang, 104­5, 228

Wang Chung (1744­1794), 222, 265

Wang Ch'ung (A.D. 27­91), 239­40

Wang Hsien­ch'ien (1842­1917), 263

Wang Nien­sun (1744­1832), 268

Wang Ying­lin (1223­1296), 233

Wang­sun Chia, 87, 97

Watson, Burton, 159­60, 278­79, 294

Wei Chao (A.D. 204­273), 230, 292

Wen (style; pattern):

and li, 218, 243­44

origin of term, 22­23, 211

in Ruism, 39

T'ien as source of, 84­85

Wen hsuan, 279, 297

Western Chou Dynasty (1045­771 B.C.):

education in, 228

fall of, 24­25, 38

feudal system of, 21, 209

founding of, 20­21

hereditary privilege in, 21, 35, 37

as model for Ruism, 12

religious practice, 212

role of li in, 22­23, 40

role of T'ien in, 21­23

as utopian era, 12, 21, 209­10

See also T'ien, in Western Chou

Wheatley, Paul, 20

Wittgenstein, Ludwig, 206, 208

Wu (martial), 211­12

Wu Ch'i, 223

Y

Yang Chu, 110, 140­41, 257­58, 269

Yang Huo, 35, 40, 215

Page 349

Yang Liang (fl. c. A.D. 800), 136, 272, 276­79, 294­95

Yangism: as naturalism, 140

Yao (Sage emperor), 85­86, 104, 116, 119, 196, 245, 254, 255­56

Yen, civil war in, 48­49, 225­26

Yen Jo­chü (1636­1704), 249

Yen Yuan, 50, 58, 63, 66, 71, 93­94, 97, 176­77, 227, 236, 250

Yen­t'ieh lun, 227, 264, 270

Yi (righteousness):

as good form, 36, 216

in Hsun Tzu, 273­74

Kao Tzu on, 114­15

in Mencius, 112­15, 258­60

in Mohism, 110­11, 258

Yi ching, 56, 229, 245, 281, 296

Yi Chou­shu, 210

Yi Yin (Shang minister), 237, 261

Yi­li, 34, 215

as Ruist textbook, 10, 58, 229

Yin Wen, 141

Yin­yang naturalism, 141­42

Yi­wen chih, 222, 239, 241, 252, 268

Yü (Sage emperor), 104, 110, 119, 246, 258

Yü Ch'ing, 222­23

Yü Yueh (1821­1907), 276­77, 279, 294, 297

Yuan Hsien (Yuan Ssu), 219, 231

Yueh Yi, 226

Yueh­cheng Tzu, 220­21, 227 256

Yueh­cheng Tzu­ch'un, 225